


I Am Bechloe Trash and So Can You

by cheeky_geek_m0nkey



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Series, minifics, one shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-04-09 10:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 282
Words: 350,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4345574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheeky_geek_m0nkey/pseuds/cheeky_geek_m0nkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of the CRAZY numbers of prompts and consequential minifics wherein our favorite acapella potatoes get together in various ways and to various degrees. Mucho lady-loving innuendo ahead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One With Fast Food

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Can you do a bechloe prompt where beca is working at a nice little fastfood place (she hates it) and shes the last worker there at like 3 am and chloe comes in drunk and demands fries and beca cant resistt

Until Saturday, March 28, at 3:02am, Beca Mitchell hated working at Cafe Crisp. In fact, the word “hate” didn’t and couldn’t begin to describe the thin, burning cold layer of disgust that spread right under the surface of her skin every time she had to pull open the door despite the fact that it confidently instructed it’s patrons to push. Of her six shifts a week, she was always seven and a half minutes late, and she knew this because she carefully calculated just how much time could pass between when her shift started and when she had to be present without getting scolded - once she landed on seven a half minutes, she sat in the car, listening to the engine hum idly, cleaning the CDs scattered under her seats or twisting her hair into braids or watching the fog build up on the windshield. She hated the way she felt her clothes become heavier under the weight of the grease in the air, and the way she seemed to be incapable of wiping away the ever-present black gunk that was squished between every button on the cash register. She hated her perfume of bacon and fries and ketchup and “cleaner” (which was just a few droplets of bleach and a bottle full of water, but no one was about to address that). She hated that the restaurant refused to put the proper accent on Cafe, and she hated that they called themselves a cafe at all. 

But most of all, she hated the closing shift - watching the other workers slowly filter out, rushing to finish their closing tasks haphazardly and leaving Beca to re-mop the back kitchen or inspect the dishes a final time. 

That’s a lie, actually. Because  _most_ of all, she hated the closing shift on Saturday nights, because any other night, she managed to do these tasks in comfortable silence, singing through the hours and ignoring the terrible Cinderella images she knew she was living out. On Saturday nights, though, her singing was always interrupted by the one or two (or three or four or five) drunk, stoned, or burnt-out-to-the-point-of-insanity college students knocking on the glass. They sang their own song - some variation of begging, giggling, mumbling to beg her to open up because they were, very clearly, dying of starvation. Sure, she never let them in, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t an inconvenience to have to listen to their idiocy for the better half of fifteen minutes. 

On this night, though, there was something different to the idiocy. 

“Cleaning” the take-out window one more time, because, somehow, there was a thin skin of grease even on that, she jumped when she swiped her hand to find bright blue eyes greeting her behind the rag. 

“Fuck!” she spat out, clutching her chest and immediately regretting pressing the damp rag to her bare skin. The woman on the other side of the window just bit her lip, giggling. She pressed her nose to the window, letting puffs of her breath create tiny fog clouds on the glass. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

The redhead didn’t appear to be affected at all by the sharp tone Beca had taken on, just smiling wider and pointing to the glass in a way of asking for it to be opened. 

Beca wasn’t entirely sure why she did it, knowing that it went against her typical Saturday night protocol - and, just generally, against her basic instincts to not get mugged or kidnapped or killed - but she pulled her keys from her back pocket and unlocked the window, nudging it open with a squeak. “We’re closed,” she said shortly, her fingers curling over the black window frame as she leaned outside. The air was chilly, and she saw that it bit at the other woman’s nose, turning it a bright pink that seemed to match her cheeks. 

“I  _know,_ silly,” the other woman said, taking advantage of the way Beca had leaned out by putting her hands on the walls of the building and drawing herself closer to the girl. “But I’m hungry.” 

She said it with a pout that would’ve - should’ve - been unbearably annoying in all of it’s intoxication, but Beca found herself grinning from the corner of her mouth, her eyebrows raised. Quickly, she wiped the expression away in favor of the stern line of her lips and an eyeroll. “Yeah, well, tough luck,” she said, shivering slightly at the March chill, “I’m tired, but you don’t see me complaining.” 

“Becaaaaaa,” the woman said, leaning over the window to rest her elbows on the ledge. Beca looked down at her name badge, crossing her arms over it quickly when she noticed the woman looking at it. “Don’t be a spoil-sport.” 

“I’m not a–,” Beca had to stomp her foot to cut herself off, and shaking her head. “It’s not important. We’re closed. Get your munchies somewhere else.” 

The other woman snorted, starting to trace the windowsill with a bright pink nail, “I’m not _stoned_ , goof, I’m just drunk.” 

“Yay you,” Beca muttered under her breath, turning towards the monitor to wipe it off and, for some strange pull, resisting the urge to close the window again. 

The other woman laughed again, standing on her tiptoes to push nearly half of her torso through the window. “Like  _realllyyy_ drunk.” 

“G _reat_ ,” Beca said with a tight, fake smile, “Your parents must be so proud. But I’m trying to work here, and dealing with drunk bimbos isn’t exactly in my job description.”

Scoffing incredulously, the other woman didn’t scoot away. Though there was a touch of water lining her eyes, and the way her mouth sat in an “O” implied there was some kind of drunken pain caused by Beca’s words. “I am  _not_ a bimbo,” she said, though her confident tone didn’t match the way her face seemed to deflate. “Don’t say that,” she added, quieter, with the corners of her mouth curving down. 

And Beca wasn’t sure what it was, because she hated Saturday night shift, and she was already working a double, and typically she would’ve thrown who ever was at the window a friendly middle finger before working in the back until they left - but the redhead’s look was so hurt, growing with every moment that passed with the word hanging in the air, and her eyes were already so big, but they seemed to grow, almost lighting up the dark corner of the restaurant. So Beca threw down her rag, sighing and putting her hands on her hip. 

“Fine. No bimbo,” she said, looking at the poster that was hung over the window that said “A Good Job is A Happy Customer” instead of at the face of the woman practically hanging from the window. “It’s cold,” she continued, her voice softer when she noticed the tank top that the other woman was wearing, “You should be home.” 

“First, I forgive you,” the other woman said, biting her lip again, and Beca couldn’t shake the feeling that she only ever did that when she felt like she was winning. Winning what, though, Beca wasn’t sure. “Second, I’m not home. I’m here.” 

“I see that,” Beca said slowly, daring to walk closer to the window. “But I can’t help you.” 

She wasn’t sure why or how she ended up a few inches away from the redhead, close enough to count the freckles on her nose (eight, and covered by a foundation that had just a droplet of glitter, it seemed), but she would later confidently claim that it was due to the other woman’s incredible ability to push herself as far into the window as possible. 

The other woman squinched her nose, her smile spreading slowly this time as she watched Beca’s lips bounce from her stare to her lips and back. “I,” she said, lowering her voice into just a breath, “Beg to differ, Assistant Manager Beca.” 


	2. The One Where Chloe Flirts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh yes prompt Chloe an Beca (in a relationship) are at a bar/club (with or without the other Bella's) and Chloe is super flirty normally but when she's drunk it's a million times worse Chloe goes to get a drink for her and Beca and this guy starts flirting with her she drunkenly flirts back and Beca notices gets super pissed and freaks out at Chloe screaming something along the lines of "Why are you always flirting with everyone?!" The guy mentioned before try's to cut in and Beca punches him

Chloe was a naturally friendly human being. That’s what she called it. “Friendliness”. 

When she answered the door for the pizza guy, asking him how his day was and brushing her hand over his when she tipped him, it was friendliness. 

And when she stayed after class with the new professor to compliment her on her lecturing style, finishing with the classic Chloe wink that melted everyone’s hearts, it was friendliness. 

And when she spent an hour on the phone talking to the cable service provider, using tones that didn’t  _seem_ to be appropriate for asking about new satellite bundles, it was friendliness. 

The Bellas never really minded, because at the end of the day, it got them free extra toppings, choreography planned by a person who didn’t have to spend all night studying the art of Japanese philosophy, and about a thousand channels they didn’t even know they needed. And Beca understood, she really did, because she saw the way that Chloe bubbled over when someone flushed under her grin, like she’d somehow aged backwards by stealing the innocent thoughts of unsuspecting passersby. Yes, she definitely understood. 

Except, there was only so much understanding a girlfriend was expected to have before it became more than reasonable to start seeing green. And, with Chloe leaning over the bar in the top she’d borrowed from Stacie, biting her lip and looking up from her lashes at the man in front of her who’s black v-neck was tighter than even Chloe’s shirt, Beca assumed that the limit of understanding had been reached. 

“She’s worse when she’s drunk, yunno,” Stacie followed Beca’s stone-cold glare to where Chloe stood (leaned, draped…whatever verb you feel is appropriate), tutting. 

“Yeah, I’m well aware,” Beca grumbled. At that, Cynthia Rose laughed. 

“Oh yeah, shit,” Cynthia Rose laughed, patting Beca on the back. “Before y’all were a thing, you two practically did the lover’s tango every night we managed to get a shot of vodka into her.” Beca shied away from CR’s touch, putting her hands down at the table they all stood around and stretching the fingers out so the veins popped up. 

“Only, that turned into something,” Stacie quickly popped in, nudging CR in the ribs, “And what’s happening over there  _totally_ won’t.” 

Beca groaned, watching as Chloe let out a giggle that somehow managed to echo off the walls and  _still_ maintain some small child-like cuteness to it. 

“Relax, Becs,” Stacie continued, putting her hand on Beca’s, “I mean, considering we share a house, I can personally confirm that Chloe has no need to look elsewhere for satisfaction. And whatnot.” 

“You guys suck,” Beca said quickly, sitting up from where she had her forehead pressed against the table. She raised her hands like she was surrendering, backing away from the table. “Like, seriously. Don’t give advice to anyone ever again.” 

She moved to the bathroom, throwing the door back with more force than she’d originally planned, but the resounding thump was satisfying and added to the weight pressing on Beca’s brow. Twice, she splashed water on her face - the first time, when she closed her eyes, she was met with the sight of Chloe at the bar, a zoom in on her lips and the way they were curving into such an easy smile…the second time, when she closed her eyes, a hundred minutes moved by in one second, from Chloe’s touch on his arm to them clamoring into his apartment and onto the pull-out couch he called a bed. All the while, the giggle was echoing in her ears. 

So when she left the bathroom and found the same face that was greeting her behind her eyes only minutes before now nose to nose with her, she jumped. 

“Oh, hey, Babes,” Chloe said easily, leaning even closer, “Got us free drinksssss.” 

Beca shrugged off Chloe’s grip on her arms, harrumphing and headed to nowhere at the speed of a fast-walk. In her peripheral vision, she saw Chloe’s smile break into a comical frown before hearing her voice over the music. “Baby, why’re you such a grumpy Gus tonight?” 

Beca turned around quickly on her heel, surprising Chloe with the agility and causing her to bounce slightly with her mouth in an “O”. “Why’re  _you_ such a fucking flirt _all the time_?”  

Chloe, who already kept all her emotions at the forefront of her expressions, had a tendency to be utterly incapable of hiding exactly  _exactly_ how she felt when she was drunk. Which meant that by this time, her face had fallen at least ten flights of happy-stairs, reaching the floor of puppy-dog-hurt and confusion. 

“It’s like I can’t let you out my sight for five seconds before you’re off throwing yourself all over someone new!” Beca continued, pushing past the stinging pinpricks in her chest that always poked through when Chloe looked at her like that. “And they’re not even - gahhh - they’re not even  _worthy_ of it, Chlo, they’re all -”

“Whoa,” a deep voice peeked into the conversation, coming in on Beca’s right, from behind. There are fingers that remind Beca of the sausages her parents used to cook on Saturdays before their date night (pre-divorce) pressing into her shoulders suddenly, and they squeeze when the voice says, “Do we have a problem here?” 

If the deep pitch of the voice wasn’t enough, there’s a waft of men’s body spray brushing over every inch of Beca’s skin, and she thinks those things, coupled with the way the man seemed to almost enjoy the fight that was happening - the way his tone implied a sense of “ladies, ladies, there’s enough to go around” - were enough proof of his identity. 

“No,” she said quietly, her eyes completely focused on Chloe. “God, no.” 

Later, the Bellas would say that Beca didn’t break eye contact with the redhead when she spun around to punch the man in the face - not cracking until the pain in her knuckles became too much to ignore. 

Later, the Bellas would say that Chloe  _almost_ grinned as it all went down. They would joke that maybe Chloe and Aubrey’s friendship made sense after all. 

Later, the Bellas would argue that “there wasn’t much blood” or “there was an ocean of blood” or “I  _heard_ the crack”, but none of them could deny the fact that Beca’s hand was in a splint for a week. And that Chloe promised sweetly, once she was sober, to kiss it and make it better before pressing down lightly on the injury and muttering, “Maybe I won’t. That might make me too much of a flirt”. 

Either way, the following Saturday, they all agreed they’d order pizza while Beca and Chloe went out  - so the pizza guy was safe from both parties - and pray for whatever waitress got stuck with them at dinner. 


	3. The One Where Beca Raps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Okay but what if to get Chloe to do things she’s not too excited about Beca raps?? Chloe has her puppy eyes right? So what if Beca just raps No Diggity, or Low or whatever? What if that’s her secret weapon???? I need a fic

Beca started the night pressed between Chloe’s side and the corner of the couch, her legs tucked underneath her. Halfway through the show, her focus jumped from the screen to the symbols she was drawing on Chloe’s knee, and when she stretched up to kiss Chloe’s jaw in the space right beside her ear, Chloe was prepared with a hand to block it. “I have 30 minutes of this episode left, and we have an hour before the party, so keep your hands to yourself because we’ve got a tight schedule,” she shot out without hazarding a glance at Beca, unpausing the show immediately after she fell silent. 

“We could just, yunno, watch the show later. And not go to the party at all,” Beca tried, pressing the symbols on Chloe’s knee deeper and higher. 

“Becs, shh.” Chloe swatted at her hand, leaning forward to untangle herself from Beca as, on the screen, “It’s the most dramatic rose ceremony in Bachelor history.”

Rolling her eyes, Beca leaned back into the couch with a huff. Between rehearsals for the Worlds and the added Bella “Bonding Time” that Chloe felt was necessary to employ after the “Year of Hell and Un-Friendship” (as dubbed by Chloe), not to mention the last minute graduation catch-up game they all found themselves playing, this was the only alone time the couple had in weeks. And Chloe was spending it engrossed in a reality show that had entirely too much dude tears for Beca’s liking, only to drag Beca to a party featuring her  _very_ new ex-boyfriend and a room full of people that wouldn’t be entirely too thrilled if Beca decided to embrace their shared free time in the way she wanted to. 

So when she jumped up from the couch during the last commercial break to stand in front of the TV with her arms crossed and a smile threatening to press through the adorably awkward purse of her lips, Chloe knew what game was going to be played. 

“Nooo,” Chloe held out the vowel, her index finger raised in warning, “No, don’t even think about it.” 

“Think about what?” Beca asked innocently, quirking her head and blinking widely. 

“It’s not going to work,” Chloe argued, leaning back into the couch and crossing her arms in a show of defiance that only made Beca more determined. “It never does.” 

“Um, tell that to the hickey that’s  _still_ healing on my neck, Chlo,” Beca argued, running her hand over the top of the television set, “Or the dishes, which, last I checked, are magically clean.” She crossed her legs, stepping forward mindlessly, and Chloe watched her, following the shadows the TV screen set on the muscular indents in Beca’s calves. She was wearing a pair of Chloe’s workout shorts, which - because they were Chloe’s - sat entirely too high and too tight for anyone’s good. “And an Aubrey who, if I had to guess, is a little pissed you missed your weekly Skype appointment with her in favor of a trip to Taco Bell that is pr _eeeetty_ against your Graduation Walk diet.” 

“Those,” Chloe sniffed, holding her chin up, “Are isolated incidents.” 

“Mhmmm,” Beca nodded. Her grin matched the raise of her eyebrows, and she winked when she stopped her stroll with a hand still on the top of the TV screen. “We’ll see about that.” 

Chloe had her hand on the remote, and it tightened against it before Beca even started. Her arm moved off the screen to a place outstretched by her side with her back thrown back and her lips pursed. Knowing what would break Chloe’s resolve the quickest, she started with the verse before the chorus, throwing her arms around with the feigned confidence and a twist of her lips. 

“I ain’t never seen nothing that’ll make me go/This crazy all night spending my dough/Had the million dollar vibe and a body to go/Them birthday cakes they stole the show.” With a hand pressed on her thigh and the other on her cheek in a fake expression of shock and innocence as her small voice pushed on, “So sexual/She was flexible professional/Drinking X&O.” 

From there, Beca stood straighter, turning to a corner of the room and holding her hand out. As she sang the next few lyrics, her focus wasn’t on Chloe but rather on various invisible people in the audience throughout the room. She only centered her gaze back on Chloe when her neck swerved from side to side as she said, “She had them apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur…the whole club is looking at her–” 

“Eff you,” Chloe interrupted the song, throwing the remote against the couch and leaning her head back of the couch with her hands pressed into her temples. Beca had to blink a few times to replace herself in the Bellas house, and the sudden jump from her eerie impersonation of T-Pain back to small and confused Beca only made Chloe’s resolve melt more. “You’re the worst!” 

Beca laughed, sitting lightly on Chloe’s lap. “You’re so easy, Beale,” she said quietly, leaning in to kiss the redhead but stopping before their lips touch. “But, out of curiosity…how many do I have to do to keep you from going to this damn party?” 

“Shut up,” Chloe, despite her tone, bit back her smile. “It’s not the rapping. I just…don’t want to watch the show anymore.” 

“Okay,” Beca said, winking, “Whatever you say.” 

 


	4. The One Where There's A Late Night Talk Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... this popped into my head when i was falling asleep last night but: Beca's about to do her first ever talk show and is totally freaking out so Chloe's in her dressing room with her trying to chill her out. Bonus points for supportive Bellas texts!  <3

When Beca got scared, in any way, she struggled with the fight or flight instinct. She assumed, somewhere along the line of evolution, that her genetics favored the art of fleeing over fighting because of the basic inconvenience that her height provided. And people had been categorizing her as a fleer for years as a result, treating her however subconsciously like she might run at any moment. 

What they didn’t know, though, was how strongly Beca’s instincts worked against each other - because just as powerful as her instinctual urge to flee potentially harmful situations was her pigheaded determination to fight the threat. 

Between handsy men at bars to manipulative record producers, Chloe’d learned that the struggle to flee or fight could only really be seen when she was looking directly into Beca’s eyes. Her pupils seemed to twitch, almost,  _needing_ to flit around the room but forcing themselves to remained locked on Chloe - grounded, secure, and still. Ready to battle. 

“So this is no big deal, right?” Beca stood in front of Chloe, twisting the rings on her fingers. “It’s just like…it’s totally, like, a chill thing…” 

And Chloe always felt it, too - the way her strength was drained out of her from her chest into her temples, pouring into Beca to turn her into the David that could face any Goliath. She put her hands on Beca’s shoulders, thinking that maybe she could double her efforts tonight. 

“Babe –” Interrupted by a knock at the green room door, Beca jumped under Chloe’s grasp, brushing the invisible dirt from her pants to cover the gasp. 

“10 more minutes, Miss Mitchell,” came the voice on the other side of the door - the voice that Chloe recognized as the floor director’s. When Beca shot Chloe another worried glance, her mouth opening and closing without releasing a sound, Chloe shouted out, “Got it. Thanks” before returning her gaze to Beca’s. Her hands were still on Beca’s shoulders, and she used the leverage to pull the girl in, putting their foreheads together. 

“Babe, you  _totally_ have this,” she started, the hands that were on Beca’s shoulders slowing moving down to her wrists. “You’re Beca effin’ Mitchell.” 

As she flipped Beca’s hands over to their palms, it was silent. Beca watched the lines she traced. 

“What if I’m dumb and stuff,” she said, and her voice had reached the height it had in her private moments before each Nationals, in the studio’s bathroom before she signed the record deal, and from the floor in front of Chloe’s door the night she told her she loved her. It was tiny, small enough for Chloe to fit into her pocket, so Chloe turned Beca’s hands back around and wrapped her hands around the fists she’d forced Beca to ball them into. 

“Beca Mitchell, we do not use that language,” she said, and Beca swore that she felt the twitch of Chloe’s grin like a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “You are the brightest, most radiant girl to ever walk the planet. Which says a lot. Because…you know… _I_ exist.” 

Beca snorted at that, moving to lift her head off Chloe’s to roll her eyes, but she felt Chloe resist the change. “I’m serious. You’re going to be amazing. If only because you don’t know how to be anything but.” 

Beca breathed in shakily, and Chloe felt her nodding. She pressed a kiss to Beca’s knuckles, then her forehead before folding Beca’s head into her chest. They stood there for a moment, rocking back and forth. Beca’s hands were cold, and without any distinct rhythm or pattern she’d let out an involuntary shiver. Still, the room seemed to be stilling. 

They were broken apart by the harsh sound of her phone rattling on the coffee table. “At least the girls are excited,” she muttered, separating from Chloe and wiping her hands on her jeans. 

“Amy thinks if all else fails, I can pull a Kennedy Centers,” she mumbled when she looked at her phone, “Said that no one would be talking about what I say because they’d be focused on what I display.” 

Chloe laughed, shrugging. “She’s not wrong. Though that  _would_ ruin the whole ‘keep my private life private’ deal you worked out with the host.” 

Again, Beca let out an exhale and shook her head. She scrolled through her texts, letting the smile stretch more easily on her face. “Stace approves of the outfit.” 

She vetoed the dress that Chloe picked out with the instructions of her manager, arguing that the best image to put out was one that was sincere. So she threw on Chloe’s favorite pair of skinny jeans and a tank top that swept low, staying loose on the top before tightening at the bottom to pull her waistline in. It was the same shade of deep blue as her eyes.  

“I saw that one,” Chloe reached out to take one of Beca’s curls and twist it around her finger. “She’s right about the way it accentuates your…assets.” 

Beca raised an eyebrow, smirking and turning back to her phone when Chloe kissed the edge of her jawline. 

“And CR requested that if I break a leg, I do it on camera, because she’s got a bet going that I injure myself somehow…Em sent a series of emojis that I  _assume_ to mean she’s excited but…God that girl is impossible to understand.” 

Nuzzling into Beca’s shoulder, Chloe chuckled. “It’s good to see they care,” she said. 

“Yeah,” Beca agreed absentmindedly, putting the phone down in favor of twisting her rings again. “Even Aubrey texted this morning. I mean, she just said good luck, but that’s good, right?”

“Considering a few years ago any proof of your success would’ve sent chunks flying, uh yeah, Becs, I’d say that’s good.” 

Nodding nervously, Beca smiled. She took another deep breath, running her hands through her hair. All the while, she maintained this bounce, like that of an animal jolted by lighting. There was a knock on the door, more forceful this time, and Beca’s eyes jumped to Chloe’s instead of the source of the sound.

“You will be great, and sexy, and cool, and the whole world is going to fall in love with you, okay?” 

Beca looked up at the ceiling, still nodding. “Okay,” she said before taking a determined step towards the door. 

“Just don’t let them fall  _too_ in love, Becs, cuz I called dibs.” 


	5. The One Where Chloe "Hates" Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fic where Beca is pretty sure Chloe hates her because Chloe keeps on spilling stuff on her, "accidentally" knocking her into stuff, and is best friends with Aubrey who definitely doesn't like her. But really Chloe has a crush on her and is just clumsy when she's nervous.

Beca wasn’t a person who really cared what people thought about her. I mean…like, generally speaking. Because if she was being honest, the amount of time it took in the morning to cover her face with just the right ratio of smeared eyeliner and disdain definitely suggested that she cared quite a lot about making sure she  _looked_ like she didn’t care at all. 

But that was semantics. 

The point was that the soundtrack of Beca’s high school career was snickers behind her back and occasional revelations of what the rumor mill was churning about her. In the four years she spent roaming the halls of that place, she spoke approximate thirty words total, and if you coupled that with the permanent scowl etched on her face and the mystery of her sudden appearance in her mom’s old hometown, well then you had ample opportunity for creativity to take over and produce tales of teenage pregnancy or rehab or Witness Protection Programs. So, obviously, Beca was accustomed to brushing off people’s reactions and opinions of her. Any prolonged focus on the judgments of others led her spiraling in a pit of insecurity that she didn’t particularly care to visit - nor did she have to time to, as her schedule was now filled with classes and acapella rehearsals.

Which was why she surprised herself when she realized that she was biting her lip the entire way home from practice, breaking through skin as she kept replaying the past hour in her head. She wasn’t sure why the glares that Chloe sent were sinking deeper into the fear-and-worry part of her brain than they usually did. She could chalk it up to the fact that Chloe’s eyes were like…a different level of intense altogether, and when any kind of emotion was attached to her stare it was laser-beamed at a sharper frequency than any other human was capable of. 

She  _could_ chalk it up to that -  _wanted_ to chalk it up to that - but the nervous pit in her stomach refused to lessen. And though it was just a shoulder brush in the middle of practicing choreography, Beca thought that she’d wake up the next morning with a bruise of some sort, because it ached or burned or…she couldn’t exactly find the right adjective for it. 

It was fine. It was totally, completely fine. Chloe Beale didn’t like her, and that was a-okay with her. One less cheery-eyed “morning person” puppy dog to wring her neck. 

Only, Chloe made it really hard for Beca to convince herself of the “fine-ness” of it all. Because when she wasn’t spilling hot coffee on Beca’s laugh with a blush and an “oops” or running smack into her during cardio, it was like Chloe almost enjoyed her company - throwing her winks and grins and eyes that traced the outline of all of her movements. So either Chloe enjoyed games wherein she acted nice to the people she hated in order to drive them crazy  _or_ Beca was over-exaggerating. 

And considering the fact that Chloe’s best friend was Aubrey, Beca, with a wince, concluded that it was probably the former. Which…what more could she have expected from someone insane enough to storm through her shower and demand she perform a personal very  _nude_ rendition of her ‘diddle jam’? 

As much as it stung, biting at the surface of Beca’s cheeks and instilling her with this irrational sense that she’d failed herself somehow, Beca  _had_ to ask. They had too many months ahead of them for Beca to be able to afford taking her shirt to the dry cleaners every time Chloe “stumbled” and spilled her pre-practice smoothies. So she stayed late after rehearsal, taking an impossibly long time to collect her sheet music. 

“Any day now, Mitchell,” Aubrey barked from where she was erasing the white board. Chloe stood next to her, a smile quirking from the edge of her lips, and Beca couldn’t shake the feeling that she was looking out as a quivering freshman at the two head cheerleaders in the high school. 

“Mhmm, Posen,” Beca mumbled, stopping her motions to scratch at her forehead. “If you’ve got some place to be, it’s not like I’m going to steal the grand piano.” 

She heard Aubrey let out a frustrated groan, and then, almost like it was instinct, Chloe’s voice cooed a placation. “Bree, just leave. I’ll lock up.” 

When she heard frantic heels thumping on the ground and the door slam, she turned around quickly. 

“What the fuck is going on, Beale?” 

Chloe looked like she had just kicked a puppy - or, more accurately, like she’d just kicked herself - with her mouth open and tugging at the corners in hurt shock. 

“What?” 

Beca rolled her eyes, slinging her back over her shoulder and walking towards Chloe. “This shit you’ve got going on. Last I checked, I endured the torture that was my high school graduation party and therefore no longer have to deal with this.” 

There was a pinch in Beca’s chest, and she tried to tell herself that it wasn’t because Chloe’s eyes were wide with fear and hurt and confusion. If Beca thought that her glares were more intense than the average humans, then she didn’t exactly know where she could place this look on that scale. She thought it might not even be on the scale at all. 

“Beca, I –,” Chloe blanched like she’d been hit when Beca resisted the urge to pull back and interrupted. 

“The tripping, the shoving, the constant glares…,” Beca wasn’t sure why, but she felt tears stinging at the corners of her eyes, “I mean, I know you’re Aubrey’s friend, but this is just bullshit. It’s crazy bullshit.” 

Chloe didn’t respond, letting the silence stretch on in a way that made Beca’s lips twitch with the desire to say more. “I don’t know…I wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit to join this group in the first place. So if I have to deal with high school bitches again, then maybe I’ll just–”

“No!” In a flash, Chloe’s eyes zoomed from pain to absolute panic, and Beca watched as that panic overwhelmed her habit of staying quiet in the face of confrontation. Her hand shot up at Beca’s words. “No, Becs, shoot. God this is…” 

Turning away from Beca, Chloe rested her elbow on the piano, pressing a finger to her temple. “This is really embarrassing, so, just…try to control that tiny ball of rage for, like, one second?” 

Pursing her lips, Beca crossed her arms. 

“Don’t quit. God that would be…kinda the worst. Don’t tell Aubrey this, but you’re the best thing that’s happened to the Bellas since…well, since the syncopated booty shake.” She paused to give Beca enough time to roll her eyes. 

“I’m confused here, Chloe.” 

“I know. I didn’t think…okay, so, when I was in sixth grade, there was this boy. Michael. He had longer hair than all the other kids, and we’d all do this thing at recess where we told him to draw something and he did it like  _that._  Don’t look at me like that, I’m getting to my point.

“So, anyway, he was the cutest guy in sixth grade, and every girl knew it, and, around the same time that he transferred, my mom started freaking out because I was coming home with bruises on my knees and stains on my shirt…Which is when I had to explain to her that whenever Michael was around I kinda… _always_ did something stupid. Like lose my center of gravity. Or perform a terrible example of human dominos.” 

Beca had unconsciously taken a step forward, putting a hand on the piano next to Chloe’s arms. Her fingers visibly twitched to reach toward Chloe. 

“So I’m sorry about the…little mishaps. But it’s kinda something I can’t control when I…well, like, when I…think someone’s cute. And stuff.” 


	6. The One With The Treehouse (Of Sorts)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> um, maybe could you possibly write me a story about the time Beca took Chloe on a picnic in her childhood treehouse? Please?) — sent by anonymous

“Okay, but, like, don’t laugh.” 

Beca’s hands were twitching around the rubber of the steering wheel. She was looking out the window at something, biting her lip, and Chloe tilted her head to try to get in her line of sight. “Why would I laugh?”

Beca let out a breath, focusing her attention back on the world inside the car. Before meeting Chloe’s stare, she shook her head. “Just…can you please promise me?” 

Chloe’s lips quirked into a smile, and she looked through her eyelashes at Beca, amused. “Fine,” she chirped, “I promise.” 

“Great. Awesome. Um, alright, let’s go.” Unbuckling her seatbelt, Beca moved to sit on her knees, twisting her body around the front seat to reach for something in the back. She had been tutting around the Bellas’ house all day, bouncing from the kitchen to Stacie’s room to her room and back to the kitchen again. Chloe, however, saw none of the action, slipping out early for a run and office hours with her Russian lit professor - who had become, albeit out of necessity, a bit of a confidante for the redhead. When Beca met her at the doorway with keys in hand, grabbing her wrist and turning her around with that nervous squirrelly bounce, Chloe didn’t put up a fight. It was the difference between Beca and her - where Beca would’ve sent out amber alerts for  _herself_ if Chloe so much as asked her to go for a ride without providing explanation, Chloe followed Beca anywhere without question. 

They met at the front of the car, and Chloe spotted a small box hidden behind Beca’s back. Beca nodded once, still biting her lip, before turning on her heel and leaving Chloe, once again, to follow. 

“Is that your dad’s house?” Chloe sputtered from behind Beca, trying to keep up with the quick pace the other girl was bent on maintaining. 

“Yep, Chlo, keep up,” Beca muttered under her breath. Though she already parked a few yards away from the picturesque white house, at the speed she was holding and the distance they were traveling, it seemed as though Beca  _needed_ to get as far away from her old home as possible. Like if she glanced at it, it would pull her in. So Chloe picked up her heels, jogging to finally match Beca’s stride, only to have to stop as she as she caught up. 

They had passed from the green expanse of Professor Mitchell’s yard into a woodier area, with years of leaves carpeting the floor and trees poking up between ponds of ivy. Chloe, confused, glanced at Beca before following the trail of her eyes upwards. The tree was short, stubby, and there was a singular piece of crooked wood tail to the bark. Nestled between two thick branches was a small plastic canoe, with a table-type addition of what looked to be the top of an old toy chest. “Becs?” 

Beca faced Chloe, her lips pressed together in embarrassment. When she held out her hand and waved it to present the tree, she muttered an ironic, “Paradise awaits.” 

The process of actually getting up into the makeshift clubhouse was a bit of an issue, as Chloe was too tall for the wooden step to do much good, but not tall enough to make it up without help. Though she stepped into the canoe cautiously, it didn’t budge in the slightest, and Chloe looked up at Beca (who had climbed up and was leaning on the branch, waiting for Chloe to make room) surprised. 

“Good craftsmanship,” Beca answered her look, hopping into the canoe too. She put the box she’d been holding on the table, and turned to face Chloe. They both sat crosslegged, their knees touching. 

“So you made this,” Chloe asked, running her hands along the bark. Indents had been made - some more recently than others, though almost all of them were music lyrics of some kind and a series of tally marks. 

“With my bare hands,” Beca said, feigning pride, “And, also, the bits of shit that people in this neighborhood leave for the garbage man.” 

For a beat, they were quiet, though Beca felt Chloe’s gaze on her. She’d become attuned to knowing when Chloe was giving her  _that_  look, the one that said: You are the most adorable of humans, and it’s taking everything in my power not to take you and squeeze you into a personal teddy bear. 

“It was kinda my place,” Beca explained, trying to brush off Chloe’s grin, “Like, God, I dunno, um.” Pausing to sigh, Beca looked up through the trees. “Like I would write songs here, when I was way little, and they, like…just total shit. Because I was ten.”

“Oh, but there’s lots of stuff happening then, you know,” Chloe interrupted, smiling, “Like, Brian and the cootie situation or that preschooler eating your favorite crayon.” 

“Shut up,” Beca said, breaking into a smile. “No, but, whatever. So…my parents fought, and I came here. Stayed the night, actually, in the summer. It was cool. Everyone thought I ran away.” 

“The rebellll,” Chloe interjected, resting her head in her head. Beca chuckled, hazarding a glance to her. 

“Yeah, well. I kinda never really out grew it. But, anyway…I wanted to show you it. ‘Cuz I kinda fucked things up for you this year, with the internship and all, and…I…feel like shit.” She said the last sentiment casually, adding a chuckle and raising the tone of her voice so as to wipe out emotion. “I assumed you’d like the grand opportunity to either mock me or force me to get crazy vulnerable and nostalgic. So…take your pick.” 

“Oh my, Mitchell,” Chloe joked, winking. They both held light smiles on their faces, and with the edges of the canoe digging into their hips, it was all they could do to lighten the weight of the actual meaning behind the get-away. 

It was another instant in a long series of instants where Beca offered to show Chloe a piece of her that other people saw. “Don’t get all emotional, Beale, it’s just so I don’t have to buy you things,” Beca said the first time she’d presented a Fun Beca Fact by way of apology or gratefulness. 

There was a beautiful kind of irony, then, in the fact that their first  _real_ meeting happened completely nude in the showers. Because since that moment, Beca had been stripping herself naked. 

(Not literally, of course. No. Chloe could practically  _feel_ Beca shake her head vehemently at that one.) 

“Well, before I choose,” Chloe continued, nudging the plastic box with the tip of her finger. “What’s in the box?” 

Beca smiled, finally lifting her head completely up and eagerly leaning over the makeshift table. “Food,” she said with glittering eyes, presenting grilled sandwiches that  _may_ have gotten soggy in the packaging but definitely smelled good enough to consume. Beneath them was a GLAD container of salad ( “For you,” Beca said with an accent, bowing her head when she presented it, because Lord knows it wasn’t her that was about to eat baby dinosaur food), and following that was oatmeal bars that Chloe’s mom made expertly. Chloe came home from Christmas break every year with a tin full of them, and they were always gone within minutes of arriving back. Stacie announced that her pastry chef of a brother knew the exact recipe for them, but she never actually bothered to follow up on the claim. 

Well, that case was closed now. 

“Beca Mitchell, do you know how much I love you?” Chloe beamed, reaching out for the plastic waterbottles of wine. Beca, how was already mid-bite into the oatmeal bars, took a moment before saying, “Hmmmyes, but you can remind me again, if you want.” 

 


	7. The One Where Beca Fights and Chloe Bakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt : "I always hear you fighting through the walls with your mean boyfriend and sometimes you cry when he leaves so I play Taylor Swift rly loudly and leave cookies at your front door to cheer you up and one time you open the door AU" (stolen from some AU prompt post don't remember where though) — sent by anonymous

She wasn’t entirely sure when it started. 

Although, no part of that sentence was true. She knew it started the night before classes began, because it was the first time she’d seen Jesse the entire summer, and he looked so completely disappointed at finding her face at the other side of the door. Which made sense, because he had come over to see his girlfriend, who had just spent the past three and a half months traversing the shores of the Beale family vacation house, which had perfectly good wifi that operated as a fantastic source of blame for missed calls and texts and emails. 

And Beca was happy to see him, of course she was, shouting a casual “hey” from the top of the steps as he stood in the doorway (which was about as much enthusiasm as anyone was going to get out of her), and motioning for him to come up. But within forty minutes the murmurs of their conversation through the walls and into the living room became more hostile. 

Chloe remembers when it started, because it was the first time in 8 years that she felt that familiar toxic chill crawling over her chest. She remembers because that was the night that she, however momentarily, shrank back into the high school senior version of herself, squished in the crevice of the couch while her calculus homework blurred in front of her. Just like then, the TV became too loud and too soft all at once, and no matter how hard it was to listen, she couldn’t resist processing the words being said. Hostility, that kind of hushed anger and irritation that was gradually boiling over, was something Chloe had become accustomed to throughout high school, when her dad was dropped from the major company he was on the way to leading, and suddenly found himself home for the first time in Chloe’s entire life. Which, naturally, led to the realization on Mr. and Mrs. Beale’s parts that the whole ‘living together’ thing didn’t do a whole lot to strengthen their already dwindling relationship. (Refusing to get a divorce because of the nosey eyes of the neighbors and instead going on couples retreat after couples retreat, though, apparently did wonders for a marriage…or at least the image of one). 

She avoided going home now because of that sound, that hiss between the walls of arguments trying to be kept quiet, and when she felt it buzzing from upstairs, it nearly paralyzed her. So she turned the television off, shuffling into the kitchen to pull out a cookbook. Because as long as she was occupied, scurrying around between cabinets and pantries to find ingredients and develop the perfect chip to dough ratio, then she could focus on the music she’d pumped through the room instead of the sounds clattering above it. 

The result of the distraction was a plate of cookies outside Beca’s door once Chloe watched Jesse race down the steps - skipping a stair with each hop - because she thought she could hear sniffling, and it hurt her enough to imagine Beca standing in the corner of the room, crying in whatever way Beca Mitchell cried, as Jesse just stood there straight and tall. 

It became a type of sick tradition, then, one that Chloe - despite every single stomach-flipping moment Beca catalyzed within her - wished wouldn’t exist at all. The second time, the other Bellas had filed in, and weren’t too pleased with the hand that slapped them when they tried to taste-test. “It’s more than a dozen cookies and a girl so tiny I would think she feeds off nothing but water and those plastic things that hold bread bags together,” Amy argued when Chloe outright slapped a cookie out of her hand. “Amy’s right, you know,” cam CR’s reason, “The last thing that girl wants right now is cookies anyway”. 

And every time they brought it up, Chloe would wipe the flour off her forehead, turn down 1989 for only a moment, and huff, “This isn’t a treat for you” in a way that was so deadpan it was almost Beca-worthy. 

It was her routine once a month, then twice, then once a week, and Chloe sank into it as a means of pushing out every sound that reverberated through the walls. She even grew to appreciate the presence of Emily at the counter, scared and with a pouting face that hadn’t yet been hardened by age, who tried her best to sing along to what Taylor was spouting over the speaker to keep her own mind off of it all. 

Beca knew, of course. It wasn’t like she  _wouldn’t_ realize there was a plate of cookies outside her door every time Jesse stormed out. She’d come downstairs the morning after with the same cookie plate balanced in her hands, slipping it into the dishwasher, offering a polite smile to whichever Bella was in the kitchen, and then walking back upstairs. She never said anything, though. Never bothered asking questions, and Chloe was never offended by this, because she knew Beca’s way, and Beca’s way was a very loud, very large path of avoidance. 

So when Chloe heard the door squeaking open as she was crouched in front of it, the plate in her hand still warm, she nearly threw the cookies down the steps in an involuntary jerk. Looking up at Beca, her eyes were wide, scared, like a kid who’d just been caught, and Beca’s eyes met her with eyebrows raised and a hand on her hip. There were pink lines around her stare, a redness around her nose that implied some kind of discontent, but a grin was peeking out of the corner of her mouth. 

“What, pray tell, do you think you’re doing?” she said, and, considering the sounds coming from the room earlier, her voice maintained a surprisingly high level of chirp. Chloe closed her gaping mouth, looking down at the cookies and back up at Beca sheepishly. 

“Uh-ub-um,” she stuttered, pointing at the plate, “Just cookies. For you. I didn’t want to disturb, uh…”

Beca was nodding, the smile on her face growing wider until she finally held her arm out, making a grabbing motion with her hand. Chloe breathed out, putting the plate in her hand in standing up. 

“Your oatmeal raisin from last week were better,” Beca said, her mouth full of food, when Chloe turned around to walk back down the steps. Chloe froze, smiling. 

“I’m trying to perfect the recipe,” Chloe explained, “More cinnamon this time.” 

Beca squinched her nose, shaking her head. “Ix-nay on the innamon-say.” 

“Noted.” 

“I’m giving you a lot of chances to ‘perfect the recipe’, huh?” Beca said, though Chloe had turned around to leave for the second time. Her toe was lining the entryway of the door, but every part of her words and manners implied that she didn’t want to be as alone as Chloe thought. 

In response, Chloe simply shrugged. The moment brought a sigh out of Beca, with a short nod that seemed to wipe the heaviness away. She tilted her head, opening up the plate of cookies and raising her eyebrows. “I’m not gonna eat all these by myself yunno.” 

Chuckling, Chloe started walking into Beca’s room. “You know, don’t tell the other Bellas you said that,” she warned before closing the door. 


	8. The One Where Beca Ships Cophine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dude can i do a totally meta fic prompt where in beca and chloe watch orphan black??? or even just like headcanons as to their favourite characters etc, idk i just like this idea

“Oh. My. God,” Chloe’s eyes peeled off the screen in time to spot Beca wiping at something on her cheek, causing her mouth to fall open in a look that blended shock and glee together perfectly. “Is our very own badass DJ Mitchell…dare I say… _crying_?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Beca muttered, glancing up at the ceiling and exhaling through her mouth to start the tears that she couldn’t seem to stop. “It’s, like, a really well done series, so…” 

Her words were mumbled under her breath, but still maintained a certain sense of indignance and attitude. Nevertheless, Chloe giggled, pulling Beca closer via the arm that was resting on her shoulder and nuzzling her forehead on Beca’s. “Is the little fangirl sad now?” 

Despite the hours upon hours a day that Beca strove to uphold the appearance of someone who wouldn’t and couldn’t be affected by mocking voices and friendly nuzzles, she shook her head and let out a laugh, grateful for the way it seemed to take her mind off the characters on the screen. When she breathed in again, she melted a little bit more into Chloe’s arms, picking at the hem of her shirt. 

“Okay, but they just, like, kill her off?” she started, and Chloe felt the way her mind was starting to boil. Orphan Black had that affect on Beca: beginning with a quiet sense of interest, through the episode it would build, bubbling until she was talking about it for an hour afterwards, her back pressed against the floor and her fists against her forehead to discuss the repercussions of Sarah’s actions or the stunning graphic effects. Like a snow ball rolling down hill, she gained momentum and size, a tumble of energy and zeal for the fictional characters on screen. The Bellas liked to watch, when they could, and Chloe certainly liked to have a group of people pay witness to the inner fangirl of Beca, but her favorite OB viewings occurred like this: live on Saturday nights, just the two of them and a carton of ice cream (she preferred popcorn, but she could see why Beca only ate that food with Jesse, seeing as he ate it like it was his only means of sustenance). Because when it was just them, Beca hid her enthusiasm less, almost squealing when Helena popped on the screen and hushing Chloe completely whenever Cosima so much as blinked. When Chloe asked her questions during commercial breaks, Beca didn’t bother to bury her knowledge, spewing out endless characters analyses and behind the scenes facts with the encouragement of Chloe’s nod and hum. Some episodes would end with her on the edge of the couch, elbows on knees and head craned forward in shock - while others ended with her burrowed as far into the curve of Chloe’s body as possible, hands held close to her mouth in fists. It was one of Chloe’s favorite parts about Beca - how you could look at her and make assumptions that you know she had purposely painted over all of her features, but underneath it all lay an enthusiasm for the quirk. Be it for acapella or a sci-fi clone show, Beca Mitchell  _liked_ to get attached to these things, to throw her entire self into them, and Chloe Beale liked to watch. 

Of course, she was invested too. She spent several Sunday breakfasts preaching about the merits of Alison’s storyline and scattered Felix quotes throughout rehearsals where ever she could. Her soft spot lie with the tiny serial killer ( “She’s not a ‘fluff monster’, Chlo, she’s  _killed_ people,” Beca constantly groaned whenever Chloe would get that excited baby squeal at the hint of Helena’s smile). She had a thing for people who weren’t what they appeared to be, apparently. 

And while Beca always had an admiration for Sarah, in all her leather jackets and smeared makeup (not to mention, of course, the plight of the mother who pushed herself away to keep her kid above water, which hit Beca closer to home than she cared to admit), she held onto Cosima and Delphine’s relationship more than, Chloe thought, she held onto her own relationship. 

They’d been rewatching the first season when Beca looked up from the computer screen she was mindlessly scrolling on, muttering a very nonchalant, “Cosima’s totally the hot one”, which succeeded in sending Chloe’s stomach into a series of uncontrollable flips until - five minutes later - Chloe paused the show and turned to Beca. 

“What’d you mean?” 

Beca looked up from her screen again, widening her eyes and furrowing her brow. “Exactly what I said. Cosima’s the hot one. I mean, look at her. And fuck it, her with  _Delphine_?! A gift to the world.” 

Yeah, Chloe ran those words through her head nearly every time Cosima sauntered onto the television monitor. Not to mention every time Beca’s eyes accidentally roamed over Chloe as they got ready for parties. And every time Beca slipped her hand into Jesse’s instead of Chloe’s, turning to whisper something in his ear and coming out with a roll of her eyes. 

(It led to a strange kind of dialogue - one wherein they would watch shows and comment on the women instead of the men, wherein the Bachelorette became  _way_ less interesting than the Bachelor did, wherein they started sending eachother screenshots of instagram posts over their favorite “girl crushes” without ever once asking if the number of girl crushes they had was too big and/or growing at too rapid a rate. Things that Chloe was grateful for more than she cared to admit). 

That didn’t seem to be the path of their conversation now, though, with Beca sniffling into Chloe’s collarbone as the DVR list stalled on the TV. 

“I mean, like, the bullet wasn’t even in her chest,” Beca was mumbling, still fiddling with Chloe’s shirt. “Besides the fact that…God…she was  _just_ getting badass. Like full-on Beale to Mitchell transformation happening and then they just  _kill her?I?”_

Chloe laughed lightly, but was sure to stifle it when Beca pushed herself up and stared at her in disbelief. 

“This is not funny, Chlo!” 

“I know,” Chloe said, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips even though her eyes were placating, “I know, I’m sorry.” 

Beca settled back into Chloe’s arms, letting Chloe run her thumb up and down the expanse of her back. 

“Shit,” Beca muttered after ten minutes of aimless humming on Chloe’s part. Chloe stopped humming, poking Beca’s arm to further her sudden exclamation. Beca just groaned, turning so that her head was completely nuzzled into Chloe. “We have to wait a year for more.” 

Chloe chuckled, leaning her head down to rest her lips on the top of Beca’s head. “That’s why re-watching exists, Mitch.” 


	9. The One with Grumpy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh my gosh, bechloe at disneyland! (preferably disneyland paris because chloe thinks she can speak french) (she can't, really)

“Chloe, dearest,” Beca said, using one arm to hang from the line barricade and lean closer to Chloe, “Would you care to explain to me why two grown adults are trying to get on the Dumbo ride?” 

Chloe looked up from the bag she was rummaging through, victoriously pulling out a pair of Mickey Mouse ears and using the proximity that Beca created to slip the ears over her series of intricate braids. “Hmmm,” she giggled, finishing the movement with a quick poke to the nose, “Because someone I know is too short to ride the ‘grown adult’ rides.” 

Beca groaned, turning around quickly and crossing her arms. The combination between the crossed arms, the pursed lips, and the mickey mouse ears allowed for a level of adorable ridiculousness that was so characteristic of the Beca that Chloe had molded out over the past three years - this girl that was resistant to giggles and whimsy but still had those two components abounding within her tiny form. She likes to think there was no change at all, no metamorphosis occurring at the result of Chloe’s active involvement, but instead the kind of evolution that comes from someone closed off finally experiencing the presence of comfort and acceptance of vulnerability. 

“Someone call Snow White,” Chloe declared, pulling her face into a dramatic expression of concern and worry, “It seems like she’s lost a dwarf.” 

“Because you’re with Grump, ha ha ha,” Beca snapped, shaking her head with each laugh and not once uncrossing her arms. Her shirt shifted enough in the movement to reveal a small pendant hanging from the star necklace she’d worn since coming to Barden. On it sat a cartoon character, with his arm’s crossed in a pose that mirrored Beca purposely. Chloe reached out for it, running the edges under her thumb. 

“Fits you perfectly,” she chirped, smiling at the scowl that Beca used as a response. “I have _great_ taste in jewelry.” 

Honestly, she was surprised Beca was wearing the thing at all. Slipping into one of the several gift stores the night before as Beca had run off to try to find a funnel cake (or “go to the bathroom”, if any of her claims were actually true), the Grumpy pendant was too great to pass up. Of course, Beca found her in the store before she actually made the purchase, because while she considered herself a Doctor of the Shopping, she couldn’t understand taxes and credit cards and negotiations in  _English_ , let alone in French. She was in the middle of reaching out for a worker, halfway through “Excusez-moi” with her hand outstretched when Beca poked either side of the soft spot above her hips, causing her to erupt in a squeal that got the worker’s attention well enough. “Je baisse-vous pour vous m’aidez avec les argents,” Chloe spewed confidently (though Beca heard, “Jay base-vooz poor vooz may-daze ay-veck lays are-gaunts). When Beca broke into a chortle that drew every customer’s stare towards them and the employer just shook his head worriedly, turning away, Chloe turned to Beca and grabbed the hands that were flailing in Beca’s laughter. 

“What,” Chloe said between her teeth, trying not to draw anymore attention to them, “Is so funny?” 

Beca quelled her laughing momentarily, brushing her hand over her lips. “Remember when you said you were a sexy French master?” she said, “Well you weren’t really wrong…You kinda just said the French equivalent of ‘I will go down on you so that you’ll help me with money’.”  

Chloe, without missing a beat, straightened her back, tilted her chin up, and huffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I aced Intro to French freshman year.” With that, she spun on her heel with the Grumpy pendant still in her grasp, to purchase the jewelry from a still very flustered teenage Disney employee (who was kind enough not to support Beca’s lingual accusations). She slipped the pendant on later that day, unclasping the star necklace as they looked for ice cream booths and sneaking the jewelry back on as they passed under Cinderella’s castle. There seemed to be nearly no response from Beca other than a roll of her eyes, a shake of her head, and a smile that hinted at an ounce of genuine contentedness. 

Which was enough to make Chloe feel like they really were in the happiest place on Earth, she thought, knowing that had she voiced the idea out loud Beca would’ve rolled her eyes until they rowed her back to America, so she just watched the smaller woman, now successfully donning a Grumpy pendant and Mickey Mouse ears, trying to buckle herself into the plastic elephant and eventually breaking out into a sincerely giddy smile when the ride cued up, making the elephant swim up and down through the air despite Chloe’s “motion sickness” proclamations. 

“Was that another success for my Mouseketeer?” Chloe mocked when she climbed out of the ride, holding her hand out to help Beca. She jumped off the edge of the ride, using Chloe’s shoulders to steady herself. There, arm in arm, the parade that was passing down Main Street starting getting closer, and Chloe fought the urge to look away at it, soaking in the - and she couldn’t have found a more perfect word for it if she tried - pixie dust in Beca’s eyes. Beca, too, ever the easily distracted, broke eye contact only to slip down briefly to assess the nearness of Chloe’s lips before dragging them back up to her eyes. 

“Hate you, Beale,” she nearly whispered, biting back her smile so that it was almost a hiss, almost a laugh. Chloe broke the closeness, taking her hold of Beca’s arms to push the girl closer to her and burying her head in Beca’s neck. The hug was unexpected, but that was another thing Chloe thought her presence assisted Beca in – the art of easing into touch easily, naturally, comfortably. Beca hummed without question, her Mickey Mouse ears tickling the top of Chloe’s ear. 

Definitely the happiest place on Earth, that was for sure. 


	10. The One With the Thunderstorms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi you're awesome. Could you do one where one of them is afraid of thunderstorms? Cute comforting ensues? — sent by anonymous

“You’ve got to be joking,” Beca said incredulously when she felt Chloe standing over her bed, leaning down to poke her shoulder. 

“Okay, not fair, I was, like, quiet as a church mouse this time,” Chloe responded, huffing and nudging Beca more forcefully. “You’ve got the senses of a guard dog.” 

“Or the senses of someone who’s sleeping constantly gets interrupted,” Beca grumbled. Scooting closer to the wall, she threw her covers back to make room for Chloe, who slipped right into the open space. “Your feet are fucking freezing.” 

Chloe giggled and raced her feet quickly over Beca’s calves, moving to intertwine them with Beca’s feet before Beca jerks her legs away with a frustrated sigh. The entire scene only makes Chloe giggle more, so Beca turned around shooting Chloe a well-meaning glare. Chloe put a hand on the pillow space between them, and Beca reached up - despite the irritation written over her face - to run her hands over Chloe’s knuckles. 

“What’s your excuse this time, Beale?” she said it quietly, with a smile poking out of her grimace. 

Chloe hummed, and in one of the first recorded instances of such a phenomenon occurring, she broke eye contact with Beca to look up at the ceiling. As if in response, the wind outside broke into a thunder clap that shook the dorm. The lightning that acted as the sound’s prelude was enough to light up the horror on Chloe’s face - with wide eyes making way to a squished wince, and her nose crinkled in fear, all joined with the jump that managed to lift Chloe’s entire body off the bed at least a few centimeters. 

“You’re afraid of thunderstorms?” Beca almost shouted, her eyes wide and her mouth opened in a half-smile half-shocked expression, like she’d just heard Lilly speak at normal to loud speaking level. Chloe lightly slapped her in response, leaning to get closer to Beca’s face and holding a finger out in warning. 

“I am  _not_ afraid of thunderstorms, Mitchell,” she said, her eyes squinting, but as she said it, the sky clapped again, and because she was halfway through a threat, her voice cracked into a worried squeal. Instinctually, the hop this time moved horizontally, as Chloe flung herself onto Beca without thinking. Under the sudden contact, Beca tensed up, though her smile was wider than Chloe thought she’d ever seen it. 

“O. M. Aca-fucking G,” she said slowly. Trying to pull herself out of Chloe’s embrace, another bout of thunder rolled through, and her smile was momentarily stifled by a face akin to someone being suffocated. Suffocated because of the Yogilates arms that were squeezing every organ in her body. 

“I thought you were opposed to aca-puns,” Chloe said with a shaky voice. Her grip didn’t loosen, and Beca could sense the thickness in her throat, so Beca decided to melt her stiff joints for a second, twisting herself to be more comfortable in Chloe’s grasp. She blew circles on Chloe’s scar for a few seconds, watching Chloe’s eyes stutter closed at the familiar comforting touch. 

“I am,” she said finally, kissing the scar lightly, “But there are some aca-occasions that require it. Like a full grown adult being scared of thunder.” 

Chloe tutted, pulling back. “I did  _not_ come here to be mocked.” 

“Chlo,” Beca tilted her head, that mocking smile not once leaving her head, “Why the fuck else would you pay 3am Beca a visit if not to get mocked?” 

Rolling her eyes (a move she’d learned how to perfect after a year with Beca Mitchell), Chloe pressed the corner of her mouth up in consideration before she threw her head back on Beca’s chest. “Whatever,” she said quietly, “Just…turn your guard-dog senses on, please and thank you.” 

Beca chuckled. The hand that she started using to draw lines on Chloe’s arm twisted to start making patterns, and while she was calm and comfortable, her foot was twitching to a rhythm in her head. “Whatever you say, Captain,” she answered, and between their squished forms, Chloe sneaked a hand up to grab Beca’s. It was like she was determined to ensure that nearly every part of themselves were touching. 

When the thunder boomed again, just as Beca was beginning to fall asleep, Chloe buried her head in Beca’s collarbone, pushing her closer. 

“Jesus Christ, Beale,” she muttered - because when you interrupt Beca’s sleep not once, but twice in one night, you aren’t as likely to get through the interaction with a little bit of harshness, “What do I have to do to get you to sleep?” 

She felt Chloe shift beneath her, felt her bite her lip in consideration, running her cold toe up and down the inside of Beca’s shin. “Sing,” she whispered, and Beca swore she heard - for the first time in recorded history - the tone of Chloe’s embarrassment. Beca’s laugh was soft, but it was almost like a growl - gravelly and disbelieving but never once barking out. 

Still, she sang (starting on purpose with Ingrid Michaelson’s “Keep Breathing” and singing the opening lines - ‘Storm is coming’ - with a wink and slight shake), moving into one song and out the other, and though a large source of that fluidity was just an inability to remember lyrics, Chloe tried to follow the path of the notes, letting it press over the sound outside, letting it press under the pulsing of her heart, until she watched the lines around her consciousness blur. Somewhere inside that haze, she felt Beca ask “Chlo?” before halting her song altogether, moving to press herself more into the redhead before closing her eyes. 

All the while, the wind outside calmed, quelling whatever indigestion the clouds where having and the room coated itself in the red-navy of 4am almost-sunrises. 


	11. The One With the Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fic prompts; beca and chloe are on a holiday for their one year anniversary together in cancun and they spot beds on the beach chloe convinced beca to cuddle with her and watch the sunset till its dark — sent by anonymous

“But I’m hungry,” Beca whined when Chloe squealed and grabbed her wrist, skipping over to the beach furniture with the glee of a child in Disneyworld. “Chlo, seriously, we’ve got reservations in like…negative five minutes because you couldn’t stand your eyelashes not being at, like, their prime length.” 

“It’s been a year, but I still wanna look good for my woman,” Chloe shot back, defensive, though she was still treading through the sand to get to the beds. 

“Right, but that’s kinda rendered null and void when you decide to prance through the sand in heels and a white sundress,” Beca complained, trying to keep up with Chloe. She took off her heels, hating the way the sand seemed to creep into the hem of her jeans (and, okay, she shouldn’t have even packed jeans for their vacation to C _ancun_ of all place, but she assumed the night was safe from ridiculously humid and sandy activities). It only got worse when she started to stumble to keep up with the body that was dragging her by the wrists. 

“Oh hush,” Chloe tutted, finally slowing down when she reached one of the beds, “It’ll be for, like, ten minutes tops.” 

She bounced down on the bed, letting it bend under her weight with both hands pressed down on it on either side as she looked up at Beca. And, though taking fifteen minutes working on lengthening ridiculously insignificant eye-lid hairs was the most nonsensical thing Beca ever heard, when Chloe managed to look up at her through the lashes, she could actually see _some_ merit to the care the redhead put into them. 

“Gross middle-aged couples probably do the do on these things all the time,” Beca grumbled. She pulled a face, before locking eyes with Chloe again. As she rolled her eyes and huffed, frustrated, she motioned for Chloe to scoot over and slid onto the bed beside her. Chloe hummed, twisting her arm around Beca and running a line up the jut of her shoulder. Her head was rested on the top of Beca’s. “Like, I’m talking fifty-something chicks trying to reclaim their marriage after three kids and a set of twins convincing their husbands to fuck in public because their therapist suggested they try to fit some more spice into their love life.” 

Chloe groaned this time, tapping Beca’s shoulder. “Shut up,” she muttered. Pressing her head more on Beca’s, she stretched out her toes and wiggled them over the line of the ocean. Beca was tense, still clearly irritated that her quest for food had been halted in any form, but with each contented hum from Chloe, she could feel the smaller girl’s muscles soften, until they became honey and warmth and ease. 

“My mom used to tell me that that was the color of my eyes,” Chloe said quietly, motioning with her head out to the ocean, “She and Dad went on trips all the time when we were little. And she’d always say she knew I was thinking about her because the sea would be extra blue.” 

Worried that the girl might have actually passed out from starvation, Chloe was grateful when, after a minute of silence, Beca let out a contented “hmm” and twined her legs with the redhead’s. “She’s right, you know,” Beca said simply, “That’s the same exact color. Same sparkle too.” 

Chloe smiled pressed into either side of her cheek, and she kissed Beca’s hair to stifle it. “I’ve got a secret though,” she said, whispering conspiratorially. Without glancing up, Beca could see the way her grin tugged like a string at Chloe’s bottom lip, like it always did was she was excited or happily flustered. “You’ve gotta wait for the sun to set, first.” 

Beca let out a half-hearted groan to show that she still hadn’t let up the discontented facade (though it wasn’t  _entirely_ a facade, because her stomach  _was_ grumbling too loudly for the conversation to be completely romantic). “Fine, but only if you do that thing with my hair.” 

Chloe chuckled, perking up quickly and moving her hand up to Beca’s scalp. She started at the temples, brushing nails lightly over it for five pulses, then pushing back, repeating the motion repeatedly until the pulses turned into light scratches of circles and the circles turned into slight pressure, massaging her head. Beca sighed, breathing more into the touch, and if Chloe was less determined to keep Beca sitting there, she would’ve cracked a joke about how utterly kitten-like the entire action was - about how Beca really might as well be purring by now. Only, she didn’t, because she liked the short puffs of breath Beca left on her collarbone and the way her body was buzzing with absolute comfort and ease. 

The sun set quickly after she started, with the clouds merging and blending into the sky to turn it from blue to yellow to pink, until the last dot of orange was tucked away in the blankets of the ocean, and the night had fallen. 

“Becs,” she whispered, because she was nearly certain that the other girl had fallen asleep. The immediate response, however, suggested otherwise, which was surprising considered how silent Beca had fallen. “Okay, so, you see the water now?” 

It was a deep dark blue, almost black, and Beca had a hard time thinking it could be the same water that they looked at only minutes before, because this one held shades of purple and promised no transparency. The moon set a streak across every slow-moving wave, making the ocean glisten. “Mmhmm,” Beca mumbled, fiddling with the collar of Chloe’s sundress absentmindedly. 

“That’s the color of your eyes,” Chloe said, quietly, “All dark, like there are storms and battles being fought underneath the surface, but still radiant enough to reflect the moon. Classic DJ Mitchell.” 

Beca chuckled, and Chloe felt her head shaking in denial immediately. “You’re such a hopeless romantic,” she muttered, though there was a grin on her face that she tried to push down when she refused to meet Chloe’s stare in favor of the sight in front of them. 

“And you’ve lasted this long,” Chloe said, nipping at the bare skin on Beca’s shoulder, “So I’ve no doubt we’ll get you in this troubled romantic mindset in no time.” 

Shifting to pay more attention to the stomach that was grumbling in the silence, Beca sat up, reaching her hand out to Chloe to help her stand. “Try me.” 


	12. The One With ALL THE HAIR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> beca and chloe have just started dating and beca finds chloe's hair everywhere and she complains and chloe is like "whats new?" cause she found it everywhere before but beca secretly is giddy about it since theyre dating now and she thinks its cute:)

“Okay, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Beca grumbled, pulling a long string of red hair from her shirt. When she pulled it off, she held it in the air, letting the small bundle of knotted hair at the bottom hang.  “It’s gross, Chlo. You’re worse than a freakin’ dog.” 

Chloe was applying mascara in the vanity, but when she heard Beca grumbling she turned around. Blinking twice, she chirped a simple “what, babe?” 

“You shed!” she said, flailing the strand of hair in her hands as her eyes grew wider, “You shed like a goddamned golden retriever, Beale!”

Chloe tutted, reaching out to take the hair quickly and flick it to the floor. “Shush, drama queen,” she hummed, returning to the mirror, “Such is the consequence of toting a hot redhead on your arm.” 

“S’gross,” Beca mumbled. She stood up to walk into the bathroom, and on the way, Chloe stopped her to bump hips. Brushing off the interaction with a grumpy scowl and a flip of her hand, she continued walking, though her lips were pressed tightly together to hide her smile. 

Because dating Chloe Beale was annoying as hell - a detail that she hadn’t exactly considered throughout the years and years she spent pining over her best friend. Daily, the shower drain was clogged with enough hair to make a wig for her grandmother’s creepy-ass dolls, and she’d come to realize that Chloe used approximately five towels every time she so much as washed her face. Makeup powder lined the edge of the bathroom sink, so that whenever Beca leaned over it to get to the hand-soap, a thin line of beige lined her shirt. And Chloe’s sloppiness in the bathroom translated in zero ways to her actual living space, as several times Beca had woken up to Chloe trying to make the bed  _while_ she was still in it. 

Not to mention the fact that somehow, some way, every single fucking thing smelled like vanilla. 

Yes, dating Chloe Beale was annoying as hell. Beca could write an entire operation report on exactly how annoying it was. But that was the thing: Beca Mitchell could write an entire operation report on how annoying it was  _to DATE Chloe Beale._

…And no matter how many times she kept herself up at night repeating that sentence, it really never got old. She was  _dating_ Chloe Beale. In all her red hair shedding, messy-clean vanilla freakiness. 

There was not one moment of irritation where Beca thought it wasn’t worth it. Never an instance of annoyance where Beca wasn’t anything but giddy at the situation. Prideful, almost. So before she turned on the shower, she peeked outside the bathroom to see Chloe singing along to some Jason Derulo song with her lipgloss open and waving in her hand. Quickly, she skipped outside the bathroom, the towel loosely covering her, and placed a kiss on Chloe’s cheek right in the middle of her solo. 

“Love you, Beale,” she chirped, skipping right back into the bathroom. 

“Love you too, Smalls” she heard when she turned on the faucet, and she shook her head, letting a breath out. 

Yeah, despite all the coping with irritation and pet peeves…they’d still have to have a conversation about that nickname…


	13. The One With the Sad Beca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Bechloe prompt* Beca has just found out a close family member has passed away and she's acting really distant and unconcerned about it but Chloe can tell that the act is a mask to hide how upset and devastated Beca is actually feeling about it — sent by anonymous

Beca infuses the clouds hanging over her head with a certain shade of dark. It is the blue-red that comes through the sky at 4 am - dark, shadowed, but still lined with enough clear light that she can break for a smile or a chuckle or a grin. It leaves enough for for a sunrise, on some days, because Beca wipes away the dark cloud when they perform, or when Chloe doesn’t something absolutely ridiculous like melt an entire carton of ice cream in a poorly approached “defrosting attempt”. And Chloe has come to memorize the exact shade of dark that inhibits the clouds hanging above Beca’s head, because she relied on that to tell her just how far she could push Beca’s buttons, or just how much of a show the smaller girl put on to communicate an overall unapproachable air. So she becomes concerned when she watches those proverbial clouds darken into a deeper black, like instead of welcoming the sunrise their predicting a harsh rain. 

Beca leaves rehearsals early when her phone rings for the fifth time, and she picks up with a hurried, “Hey, Mom, what’s up” before slipping into the back hallway. When she doesn’t come back after their water break, Chloe’s phone lights up with a text that reads, “Something came up. You got prac handled today.”

And Chloe knows that the imagination she has fostered to allow her to concoct ridiculously optimistic scenarios also allows her to envision the worst, so she stops by Beca’s dorm on the way back from rehearsals to find her hunched over her computer, biting her lip throughout the entirety of a song but not really managing to look at the screen. 

“Becs?” Chloe tries, knocking lightly on the door to announce her presence. When Beca looks up, startled, Chloe realizes that there can’t be any music playing from her headphones, because the immediate recognition is different than Beca’s normal obliviousness - the kind that results from headphones pulsing too loudly. 

“Just wanted to, yunno, check in,” she says, wiggling her head back and forth and offering up a smile. “Everything alright?”

Beca stares back down at her computer screen, running the headphone wire between her fingers. “Yep, peachy. How did the rest of rehearsals go?” 

Playing with the doorknob but refusing to step any further into the room, Chloe shuffles. “Fine. Same old, same old. Stacie’s self-groping is becoming a serious issue, I think, but Amy looks pretty close to calling her out on it so…” 

“That’s good,” Beca says simply, “Sorry for skipping. My grandma died. Kinda sucks.” 

“What?” 

Beca shruggs, pulling her legs up so she could rest her chin on her knee. “Yeah, she was old though. It’s, like, not a big thing.” 

“Becs, I…” Chloe tries to move forward, but Beca’s glare held her at her spot. 

“Don’t, Chlo,” she says, shaking her head. “Like, seriously, it’s fine. I’m fine. But I’ve got to finish this mix, so…” 

“Right. Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

She texts her later that night to say, “Love you”. Beca doesn’t respond. 

Yes, Chloe knows the exact shade of dark that Beca painted over herself most days so that the world wouldn’t come too close and she could maintain that distanced level of cool that she worked so hard to get. She knows the split second that shade turns lighter, and therefore knows the exact moment when that shade turns darker too. It’s like Beca is sand, and when she tries to hold her, she sinks through her fingers. 

She works her way through the week’s rehearsals with her trademark grimace, offering up mixes whenever they’re needed, because Nationals is coming all too soon and no one seems to be prepared enough. Twice in the week, when Chloe shows up to walk her to the cafeteria, she slips off her bed after slamming her laptop shut, linking arms with the redhead and listening intently to her stories. It’s the three other times, when she’s not in her room, or when she clearly is - blasting music from inside the four walls - but she doesn’t answer the door, or when she answers and gives Chloe a heavy sigh that’s accompanied by an “I’m really not hungry, sorry Chlo” that hints that something’s wrong. It’s the fact that Beca wears her hair in a messy bun for four days straight instead of indulging in her intricate braids, and once, she shows up to practice with no makeup on whatsoever. It’s the fact that when Aubrey calls while they’re lying out in the quad, she doesn’t quirk her eyebrow or roll her eyes, but just keeps staring at the patch of grass she is focused on. 

It’s all these little things and more - some worried sophomore rushing up to Chloe to ask when her girlfriend (Chloe doesn’t correct him) would be feeling better because their lab is due tomorrow and they haven’t even started - hint that something is going on beyond Beca’s proclaimed “I’m fine”s. 

So she isn’t ruffled at all when she walks into Beca’s dorm with a movie tucked under her arm and more than a few bags of gummy candy to the sound of Beca groaning at the sight of the red head. “Not in the mood, Chlo,” she says, not looking up from her computer. 

“Tough,” Chloe says, tearing the computer away from Beca’s grabbing hands and shushing her. “We are going to put this movie on, and we are going to talk the entire way through it, and you are going to tell me about your grandma, because if she’s halfway as badass as you then the world kinda deserves to hear about it.” 

Beca doesn’t protest, is really too tired to (and that’s another sign, Chloe thinks), scooting up on her pillow to make room for Chloe. She starts by telling Chloe about the records she stole from her grandma when she was eight years old, and how, when her grandmother caught her, she didn’t yell - she chuckled. Taking away the records that Beca was rolling on the floor like wheels, she said, “That’s not even what these damned things are for” before leading Beca into her bedroom and throwing them on the record player. 

“She’s kinda…Well, was kinda the first person to show me how to make music,” Beca says simply as the characters on the screen are yelling at each other. Chloe hums, slipping another candy in her mouth and scooting closer to Beca. “I’m really glad you’re here,” she says even quieter, a hopeful whisper, but Chloe clearly heard it. 

“Me too, Becs. Me, too.” 


	14. The One With the Airplane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what about flying?? like, the flight to copenhagen. where one of them is surely scared of flying and the other has to chill them tf out :D

“Becs, are you, like, okay?” 

Beca heard Chloe’s voice from somewhere outside the world she was currently paralyzed in, and when she blinked through the haze of panic, Chloe’s features slowly became clearer until Beca found herself latching onto the dark blue speckles in her eyes to stay grounded. 

She tried to speak, tried to respond in some way to the worry on Chloe’s face, but when she opened her mouth, all that came out was a croak. She swallowed, shaking her head and trying again. “Yeah, no, totally fine. Nothing to see here,” she said, fiddling with the seams of the seatbelt and letting out of quick breath of air to reward herself for getting the sentence out in a semi-convincing manner. 

She forgot, however, how her tendency to word vomit was nearly as strong as Aubrey’s tendency to  _actually_ vomit. So the breath she exhaled quickly became a nervous mumble. 

“Just, like, a girl sitting on a flying metal death-trap who’s not thinking at all about the fact that she’s about to fly over hundreds of miles of ocean, where, were the plane to crash, they could disappear completely without a trace.” When she paused, she realized what she’d said, coughing and sending a shaking hand to scratch at the edge of her temple. “But, like,” puffing out her cheeks to breathe out casually, Beca glanced up at the ‘fasten seatbelt’ sign, “Nothing to see here.” 

She felt Chloe’s stare on her - always had had this innate ability to  _know_ when Chloe was watching her, as if the other girl’s eyes literally dug lines down her spine like those serenity gardens her mom always bought. She resisted the urge to meet Chloe’s gaze, though, knowing that what she would find would be the blend of amusement and pity that she so hated to see on other people. So instead, she just quickly jumped forward to pick up the flight-safety brochure, flipping through it with entirely too much zeal. 

“Beca,” Chloe said quietly, putting a hand on her wrist. The movement shifted to become an attempt at loosening Beca’s grip on the brochure, and when Chloe finally freed the other girl’s hand, she slipped hers into it smoothly.

And Beca shouldn’t have been surprised, really, at the lack of mocking in Chloe’s tone. Had it been Stacie or Aubrey or even Emily (who was beginning to get a little too comfortable with the overdone height jokes), they would’ve nudged Beca in the side, muttering something about how it was great that Badass DJ Mitchell still embraced her more humble, human side every once in a while. Frankly, had it been Chloe on most occasions, she wouldn’t done the same. Instead, she kept her voice to the softest whisper she could maintain, similar to (and Beca winced at the idea) the tone she held when she was trying to placate Beca’s baby half-sister during a particularly rough night that ended in a macaroni up her tiny nose. She tried her best to resist the urge to pull her arm away, grumbling something about how she’s not a baby and certainly wasn’t scared, because Chloe’s hand was warm in a way that wasn’t clammy, and she could smell her vanilla lotion from where she sat. 

As the plane started racing down the runway, Beca felt her grip on Chloe’s hand tightened until Chloe was visibly wincing, and she was certain that she’d never seen Beca’s lips so pale or her face so green (and she’d seen many,  _many_ versions of hungover Beca, so this was really an achievement). Chloe moved her other hand to Beca’s shoulder, pressing her back into the seat. 

“You know what,” Chloe said, maintaining the light tone, “My brother and I used to fly all the time when we were little - yunno, to visit my dad when he was working in California. And I used to get, like, really freaked. Not –” she said quickly, feeling Beca’s hand tighten more though her glance never left the back of the seat in front of her, “Like you’re freaked. Because you’re so totes not. But anyway…So my brother used to do this thing, yunno, where we held hands and counted down until lift off. Which is dumb, and totally stupid, but,” Chloe bit her lip, starting to move her thumb in circles over Beca’s knuckles, “I’m a little scared again, and if you could…help me…that’d be great.” 

Beca, for the first time in what seemed like ten minutes, finally breathed out, breaking her staring contest with the navy seat design to look at Chloe. Not only did she not look scared - she looked utterly and completely calm, like she was about to take a trip to the grocery store. The corners of her lips were pressed up, but she mastered the art of looking  _up_ at Beca even though she was, technically, looking down. Beca swallowed, nodding slowly. She wasn’t capable of anymore words, worrying that speaking would result in squeaking, and though she _knew_ that Chloe knew about the facade that was this situation, she was more than grateful for the effort Chloe put in to making it all seem less like a huge overflow of vulnerability. 

“Great,” Chloe said, pulling her hand - which Beca still clung to - to her chest and hugging it there as she rested her head on Beca’s shoulder. “Ready?” 

Beca nodded again, closing her eyes and focusing on the ins and outs of her breaths instead of the rapidly increasing sound of the wind pressing against the plane outside. For a few seconds, Chloe was silent, and in a manor that made Beca later question how much, exactly, was the “all the time” that Chloe used to describe her childhood traveling habits, she started counting just as the Beca felt the plane start to tilt. 

“Three,” she said quickly, which Beca repeated in a croaking whisper. “Two,” her voice was quieter, but it held a certain excitement that left no room for her self-announced ‘fear’. The plane was almost completely tilted, now, and Beca thought that if anxiety could cause actual, physical, knife-stabbing fatal wounds in her chest then she would have to later check her shirt for blood. But Chloe squeezed her hand once, pressing her chin into Beca’s shoulder to press her lips right on Beca’s ear, and whispered in her quietest voice, “One.” 

With that, they took off to Copenhagen. 


	15. The One Where Chloe Doesn't Like to Sleep...For Reasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know u r prob super busy, but ur so awesome and ur writing is amazing so if u have time do u think u could do a minific where Chloe wakes Beca up in the middle of the night while they are sleeping just to make out. And it's not the first time she's done it, like it's just one of Chloe's weird things. She likes to make out or have sexy times in the middle of the night like its no biggie all the time. — sent by anonymous

Beca is always one of two extremes. Either she is awake for forty eight hours straight, or she sleeps through an entire weekend - waking only for snacks and occasional, morning-breath pecks on the cheek. When she’s awake for such an extended period of time, she’s jumpy, bouncing off the walls and unable to be stopped, with that tired focus that comes with not wanting to slow down but needing to. Which is why is so hard for Chloe when Beca hits her hibernation mode, because she knows Beca needs her sleep - she knows that those days spent watching the comatose girl snoring lightly are days that exist for Beca’s own mental well-being, but that doesn’t mean she  _likes_ watching the crash Beca makes from bounding at 100 mph to not moving at all. Because aside from the basic unhealthiness of the whole cycle, it also means that Chloe must respect Beca’s sleeping moments like some might observe religious holidays. And she really hates this obligation to respect. Because she’s got some strange sleeping habits of her own, too. 

There are nights - several, several nights that can happen in a row or scattered throughout a month, but are never predictable - where Beca is so unbearably adorable lying next to her on the bed, her lips parted slightly and puffs of breaths that don’t  _officially_ count as snores (but totally are, Chloe has argued several times over) peeking out. Her hair is fan around her face, and her cheeks are rosy from being pressed against the pillow, and Chloe can’t help but imagine the moment in Sleeping Beauty where Aurora looks like more than a princess - she looks like a painting, like a totally ridiculous and completely radiant Renaissance version of the Virgin Mary (which, admittedly, is a weird thing for one to think about their angst-ridden, potty-mouth, frequently accidentally sexy puppy of a girlfriend). So she’s not really in control of her rational, thoughtful, health-conscious mind when she presses a kiss into the corner of Beca’s mouth. 

The smaller girl’s face scrunches up at the contact, and she licks her lips once before closing them, sighing. 

And Chloe isn’t sure if maybe her mood is what’s telling her that every single minute motion of Beca increases her level of adorable, or if her girlfriend just has that kind of ability, but either way she moves even closer to the girl, brushing her brown hair out of her face. She lets her hands trickle down Beca’s jaw, feeling the girl’s breath shudder, and when her index finger hits her chin, she tucks her thumb underneath it, tilting Beca’s head to reach hers. 

The first kiss is chaste, of course, because Beca is asleep and because Chloe may have liked the Sleeping Beauty, but she’s not as creepy as Prince Phillip ever was, even in her desire to ripple through the puddle of adorable that is Beca Mitchell sleeping. No, the kiss is chaste, and just enough to stir Beca to life. She doesn’t open her eyes, but she does inhale, moving her arms to Chloe’s hips and tugging herself closer. With hands rolled into fists on the hemline of Chloe’s pajama shirt, Beca is telling Chloe that - despite every rule she’d set to not wake her up before noon - she is awake. Awake and completely okay with that fact. 

Chloe hums, twisting her hands through Beca’s hair and moving to the place where her neck and jaw meet, pressing kisses there as Beca runs her hands over the tiny hills of Chloe’s spine. 

Then, with a breath, they break apart, Chloe moving back from where she’d started to straddle the smaller woman. She turns her back to her, letting her two hands pillow her face and scooting further under the covers with a bit of her lip. She feels Beca’s gaze on her, her head rested on her bent arm. There’s a poke at the space between her shoulder blades. 

“I really fucking hate when you do that, Tease,” Beca grumbles, then tip-toeing her fingers over the redhead’s hip. Chloe shrugs, wiggling away from Beca’s hand. 

“It’s a bad habit,” she admits, biting her lip. “Now go back to sleep, Mitchell.” 

She thinks she can hear the eye-roll even with her back turned. 

“Yeah, because I’m definitely going to sleep soundly,” she states with total sarcasm, “Because that little stunt you pulled is really gonna make me feel calmer… .” 

“Shut up, Mitch. And scoot. I want to be the little spoon today. ” 


	16. The One Where Beca Thinks Chloe's Not Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FIC PROMPT Beca and Chloe are the only ones in the Bellas' house for the summer. Beca is taking a shower in Chloe's en suite Bathroom for some reason and she thinks Chloe is out. She forgot her towel... it's too hot to care so she just starts to head to her room but Chloe is home. — sent by scrawniest-calamity

“Fuck,” Beca muttered the minute she slams the shower off, glancing at the bare shower door and realizing she forgot her towel. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

Peeking out, she quickly glanced around the room in hopes that something might act as a sufficient substitute. The vanity was filled with various shades of powders and pencils, with used make-up wipes strewn over the sink. 

Typically a neat-freak, Chloe kept every room in the house spotless with the exception of, what she called, “her workspace” because “an artist never cleans her own palette”. Beca assumed when she stepped into the bathroom that her presence wouldn’t be vetoed, necessarily, seeing as Chloe’s shower was the only one with actual, semi-decent water pressure. Chloe was out filling their fridge with vegetables that Beca had long ago deemed unneeded, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken one of her classic Beca showers - an act that entailed approximately forty-five free minutes to stand under scalding hot water and casually forget too many words to too many songs. After a day spent wincing at the impossibly high volume her boss could reach when he got even the slightest bit frustrated, she deserved that much. She was sure Chloe would agree, and so actually sneaking into Chloe’s ensuite to use the facilities wasn’t precisely a lapse in judgment. 

The towel, however - or, more appropriately, the absence of the towel - may have been an error in Beca’s earlier processing. Standing in the shower with the faucet occasionally dripping, Beca tried to shake off some of the water droplets limb by limb before she took a deep breath and pushed open the frosted glass door. 

She’d just have to rush. That was all. One flight of stairs and a completely empty house. Right. Totally manageable. She just had to run. 

Granted, she underestimated entirely the length of time her showers took in comparison to the amount of time needed to pick up a few ears of corn and bags of spinach. She was halfway through Chloe’s room when she heard a light humming coming from entirely too nearby. 

There was some kind of evolutionary instinct revving up within Beca that told her to dash the minute the threat was posed, which she would later claim was the best possible explanation for what was an absolutely scared shitless mind telling her to run to the door before Chloe could get there. The result of this instinct was a very nude Beca Mitchell body-slamming Chloe, recognizing the faults of new wooden flooring, and falling straight on her ass. 

“Beca, wha–” Chloe stood in the doorway, two wet handprints pressed in the space right above her chest. Her mouth moved to form more words, but as the scene in front of her continued, her eyes only grew wider while her voice stayed mute aside from a few squeaks here and there. 

“Shit, fuck,” Beca, immobilized originally by the pain that is falling flat on your bare ass on wood floors, instinctually tried to move into a fetal position to A) nurse her wounds and B) cover nearly everything but her back. Instead, though, she carried on a long string of curse words while scrambling to stand up, wondering briefly if Chloe had lined the floors in butter before leaving. 

“Do you –” Chloe paused, reaching to bend down but pulling herself up again, “Do you need help?”

“No!” Beca said entirely too fast, her fact beet red and only getting hotter. “No, just, um,  _fuck_.” 

Once she was aware of the heat pressing over her face, she became aware of the burning pain shooting up her ankle and accompanying the throbbing bump that was already forming on her tailbone. She may or may not have let out a whimper (that detail always depended on which Bella was telling the story later), which pushed Chloe out of her shock and amusement to put a hand on Beca’s elbow. Beca immediately flinched away, but Chloe shushed her, reaching again. 

“Grow up and let me help you, you nudist,” Chloe muttered, now getting both hands on Beca’s arms and pulling her up to stand. “There.” 

Her hands rested on the top of Beca’s arms, and she absentmindedly moved them up and down to comfort Beca. “All good.” 

Then, as if she wasn’t aware before, Chloe seemed to stiffen, realizing what predicament they were actually in. Beca watched it, watched every emotion cross over Chloe’s face from mindless comforting to shock to embarrassment and finally into curiosity, as her eyes flickered over Beca’s figure. Beca watched it, watched it all, and was entirely too petrified of the entire situation to do anything but stand and shake slightly. 

The air conditioning had been broken in the house for days, but she had goosebumps where Chloe’s hands were on her arms. The haze their proximity made seemed to last three days and three seconds altogether. The redhead blinked, shaking her head and stuttering. When she reached to scratch her temple nervously, her arm brushed lightly over Beca’s chest, which sent a squeak out of the smaller girl before she could stop it. Chloe, in response, stuttered more extremely, a bumbling mess of “ums” and “uhs” until she finally closed her eyes and stepped back. “So, um, right. You’re not hurt?” 

Beca shook her head, then realized that Chloe couldn’t see her. “My ego is pretty damn bruised.” 

Chloe laughed, then pointed to her bed. “Borrow the pillow please,” she said, and Beca gratefully pulled the pillow to cover her body. “Also, for the record, your ego should never be bruised by, uh,” Chloe pointed at Beca, moving her finger up and down, “All of that.” 

Beca - who had never stopped blushing - felt as though her face was on fire. “Right. Weirdo.” 

Chloe shrugged, clearly operating more as her classic self again. She walked over to Beca, tugging at the corner of the pillow case. “Well, it’s nothing I’ve never seen before,” she said with a wink, and she wore Beca’s knees  _literally_ trembled at the comment. Deciding to push her luck (she did, after all, walk into her room to find a naked Beca standing in the middle of it), she slapped Beca’s bum, sending the smaller girl jogging to get out the door. “And remember the girls are coming back in a week. They might not be as cool with full frontal as I am.” She shouted it as Beca was heading down the steps, but she still managed to see a middle finger held proudly in the air by way of response. 


	17. The One With Danny and Sandy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if you're currently accepting requests but could you do a minific where Beca and Chloe are in a musical/show/play and begin to fall in love during rehearsals? Thanks, and your fics are amazing btw :) — sent by anonymous

“D’you have something to say?” 

The voice chirped out over the silence of the auditorium, startling Beca enough so that she dropped her textbook. When she spun around, a woman was standing nearer than she’d thought. Her arms were crossed, and her brows were furrowed in suspicion, though there was a grin peeking out of the corners of her lips. 

“U-uhm, no,” Beca breathed. Though she wasn’t the greatest person to function at a social level, she knew that the stutter in her voice came from more than just genetic awkwardness. Less than an hour ago, the woman standing next to her was on stage. She had a confidence that was meant for performing, and she walked the stage like it was her own bedroom - like no one was watching, like everyone was watching, like somehow she existed in a universe where both realities could be true. Even from her place in the back row of the auditorium, trying and failing to finish taking notes for her Intro to Literary Theory course (the auditorium was almost never in use; it proved to be cold and quiet enough for Beca to actually get work done most days), Beca saw a sparkle in the girl’s blue eyes. From up close, they were breath-taking. Literally. 

Beca flailed her hands to communicate her disinterest.  _She’s not a fucking moviestar,_ she reminded herself,  _even if she was, you’d have your shit together. Chill._

The woman hummed, moved her hands to her hips. “What, did the boys’ audition not impress you?” 

Before Beca heard the woman talked, she’d given up on work for the day. She had become fully engrossed in the task of scoffing at the men’s performances. Where a whole crowd of women auditioned for the role of Sandy, three men tried for Danny. They all appeared to have gotten into college a year early, judging by the way their bones seemed to stick out in awkward places and their voices cracked every other note. 

The face Beca made must’ve clued the woman in on her honest opinion, but instead of the chastisement she was expecting, Beca was on the receiving end of a knowing laugh. “They’re terrible,” the woman admitted, though she seemed to be able to say anything and turn it into a compliment. 

“Yeah,” Beca admitted shyly, pulling her hair behind her ear. 

“So,” the woman tried, her tone changing, “Let’s see you do better.” 

“What?” Beca spat out, her stomach dropping at the very thought of getting on stage. “No no no, I don’t perform. I don’t even sing. I’m just - I was just -” she held up her textbook as if that explained the situation, but there was a gleam in the woman’s eyes that suggested Beca wasn’t going to leave the auditorium without at least taking a step on the stage. She considered, briefly, the possibility of a trap-door on stage, or the various worlds that existed wherein she was faster than the other girl. 

But she could tell from the other woman’s eyes and the swing of her hips that this was not a girl who took ‘no’ easily. Or at all. As if she ever had to. 

Without questions or introductions, the woman wrapped her hands around Beca’s wrist, pulling her forward. 

“I’m Chloe, by the way,” the woman said, leaning into Beca easily. She smelled like the stage, and the cafeteria’s lemon cake frosting. Something about it made Beca smile, despite the look of utter terror in her eyes. “And you are…?” 

“Beca,” she said quickly, trying to make her weight heavier to slow the walk. “And I really don’t do this. Chloe.” 

Chloe smiled, an easy, comforting, pitying smile. “There’s a first time for everything,” Chloe said, ended with an excited squeak and a squeeze of Beca’s wrist. “I’ll be up there the whole time.” 

“You’ll…we’re…” Beca hoped that the path of this conversation wasn’t at all an indication of what she’d be able to do on stage. 

“If we’re convincing them to do this thing gender-bent, we kinda need to show them that it’ll work,” Chloe answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She threw a chuckle in at the end to emphasize the ridiculousness of Beca’s confusion. “You know Grease, right?” 

Beca cleared her throat, wincing. “I don’t do movies.” 

“Beca Insert-Last-Name-Here, you don’t do a lot of things, do you?” 

“Mitchell,” Beca said in response, looking down when confusion washed over Chloe, “My last name. It’s Mitchell. Beca Mitchell. That’s me.” 

Chloe pursed her lips to keep from smiling. They were almost on stage, and the silence between them allowed Beca’s words to echo in her head. “God, like, I sound really lame, don’t I? I’m not normally this lame. Like, I am, but I’m normally better at hiding it and I –”

“Hey, Beca Mitchell?” Chloe said, putting a finger to Beca’s lips, “Stop talking, start acting. Yeah?” 

They were on stage, though Beca wasn’t exactly sure when that journey had been completed. The room was spinning around her, and she tried not to think of the last time she’d been on stage, as a can of yams in her fifth grade Thanksgiving show. She tried not to think about the blankness that overwhelmed her younger self, or at the way she’d forgotten every possible word in the English language in that moment. She focused on the hand in hers, squeezing the palm for reassurance. Chloe looked at her, smiling wider, her eyes sparkling like a glass of sky champagne. On stage, she was stunning. 

“Ready?” Chloe whispered, not breaking eye-contact. Beca was grateful for the intensity of her stare, as she didn’t have to look out at the audience of four confused and tired looking casting…humans. She just nodded meekly, wondering somewhere in the back of her mind how a quick study session had become an audition for the university’s fall play. 

She’d seen enough of the terrible auditions earlier to know the lines, somehow, so when Chloe winked suggestively, mouthing “Go”, Beca didn’t have to think much before throwing on a shocked expression and gasping, “Sandy?!” 

Chloe’s eyes twinkled at that, and she licked her lips. Beca recognized that her shock - or discomfort or blush - was not completely acting. “Tell me about it,” Chloe said, her voice just above a whisper. Even though she manipulated the sound enough for the entire auditorium to hear it, Beca felt like the words were just for her. She blushed. The music cued up, and Chloe’s hips started bouncing to it. 

Without realizing it, Beca was tapping the beat into her thigh. “ _I got chiillls, they’re multiplying,”_ her voice rang out, no ounce of hesitance peeking through everything but the first word. Chloe saw something come alight in Chloe’s eyes at the sound, and it stirred something in her stomach. Her eyes focused on that fire in the other girl’s face, she felt the stage dissipate. She sang her part easily, then, though she stood stock-still where she started. 

As the music bounced between the rests, Chloe pursed her lips. Her hips were still bouncing subtilely to the music, and when her part came up, she pressed a finger into Beca’s sternum. “ _You better shape up,”_ she sang, her voice more piercing when it was being directly right at Beca’s face. “ _Cuz I need a man. And my heart is set on you-ou-ou.”_

Beca hid neither her smile nor her wandering eyes, losing control of herself for long enough to not care what Chloe thought about the way she was practically drooling. They continued singing, and as Chloe danced around the stage, she almost used Beca as a type of prop, trailing her finger over the smaller girl’s shoulders or pressing their foreheads together as she bounced her legs. As she sang, “ _Feel your way,”_ she took Beca’s hands and put them on her hips, shimmying down Beca’s front. Beca imagined she looked dumb, standing up there doing nothing more than gawk, and she nearly felt like cursing Chloe for using her as a way to show-off more. Only, by the end of the song, she realized she’d moved too, bouncing in tune to the music - or in tune to the beat Chloe’s hips were hammering out - and throwing smiles at the other girl just to see if they’d catch. When they finished, Chloe’s nose was pressed to hers and they were both out of breath. For a second, while the stage still felt invisible, they looked at each other, something silent and powerful happening between them. 

“You  _do_ sing,” Chloe breathed excitedly. Beca would’ve responded, but she feared that she wasn’t able to make real words happen after realizing how natural the song and dance felt with Chloe. She swallowed, shrugging. 

“Never outside of my shower before now,” Beca said simply, acutely aware of the fact that they were both on stage. Chloe laughed, though, putting a hand on Beca’s shoulder. 

“You know, I like you,” Chloe said easily, simply. Beca breathed out a goofy grin - she didn’t even try to stop it - and averted her eyes for the first time since the scene began. “Which is very fortunate because we’re about to be spending a whole lot of time together, Danny Zuko.” 

 

\--

 

“Ugh, I…I can’t,” Beca ran her hands through her hair after throwing the script on her bed. Slamming the back of her head against her headboard, she let her next sigh deflate her completely. “Fuck this.” 

“Whoa there, Drama Queen,” she heard a voice chastise from the doorway, startling her out of the heavy frustration that was cementing her temples. When her hands flew from where they were covering her eyes, she saw Chloe Beale leaning against her door frame with the same confident grin she wore when they first met. 

“Yunno, it’s called breaking and entering,” Beca muttered, tugging at the end of the sock, “And it’s illegal.” 

Chloe tutted, picking herself off the door frame. “Your door was wide open. I swear it’s a wonder who’s the trained actress here and who’s the novice.” 

“Right, until you see them actually trying to rehearse, and then it’s abundantly clear,” Beca grumbled. She actually tried to focus on the weight of her exhaustion and frustration, in hopes that that might push away the tickling moths skittering around in her stomach at the sight of Chloe running a hand over her things. The redhead held her fingernail between her teeth, smiling as she considered the bulletin board of bands and concert tickets hanging near Beca’s desk. 

“Excuse me,” Beca twirled her ponytail around her wrist nervously,  “But I think having one conversation and a throwaway audition is not pushing us past the point of social niceties. See, this is where you tell me that I’m not as bad as I think I am - and that you can’t be nearly as good as I think you are.” 

“Oh no,” Chloe said, turning to face Beca and shaking her head, “I’m totally as good as you think I am.” 

And Beca was consumed by the newfound knowledge that even outside the comfortable dome of Barden’s Auditorium, Chloe’s eyes sparkled with a zeal for life that was supernatural in all it’s naturalness. She was the first person besides Beca’s dad and her roommate to actually be in the dorm room (with the exception of Kimmy Jin’s surprisingly large collection of followers), and Beca normally squirmed when people even  _looked_ at her stuff, but here Chloe was running her hands over the edges of everything, her lips parted slightly in concentration. 

She had to tell herself, over and over and over, that she didn’t know this woman. She didn’t know her at all. 

“You’re the worst,” Beca muttered, though there was a grin breaking out on her features too. She couldn’t keep it down with Chloe so close. 

“So, what’re you struggling with?” Chloe said, putting down the book she was fiddling through to bounce onto the bed. She landed with perfectly crossed legs. 

Bending the edges of one of the pages, Beca groaned. “All of it.” 

Chloe rolled her eyes, holding her hand out for the script. “Where do you feel the most safe?” 

Beca squinted, unsure of the question. 

“You’re a thinker, Beca,” Chloe explained, not looking up from the notes made in the script. “Which means the issue is that you can’t take yourself out of your character and let it breathe on it’s own. So,” she put down the script, running her thumbnail over Beca’s calf, “When do you forget that you’re playing a part?” 

“I don’t, really,” Beca answered, shrugging. But the answer didn’t seem to be good enough, and when Beca noticed that Chloe wasn’t going to respond until Beca provided a better explanation, she coughed, thinking. “Fine. I guess when the songs are on….when we sing it…feels easier.” 

“That’s right,” Chloe said, nodding once. 

“If you knew I was going to say that why did you make m–”

“Stop talking, goon,” Chloe said, pressing her finger to Beca’s lip. Beneath her finger, Beca tried to say “Do you have any sense of boundaries?” but it turned into “D’yyyy ‘ab any spens vvv boundrris?”. Without checking the page number, Chloe shoved the script into Beca’s arms, tapping the top of it. “Go.” 

Beca rolled her eyes, grimacing when she saw the words. She heard Chloe whisper, “Breathe, first” and she closed her eyes, counting to ten. Every ounce of her was focused on pretending that Chloe’s hand wasn’t pressed against her back - this stranger, this electric magnetic girl, here on her bed pushing her to be some variation of “badass” Danny Zucko. 

“ _Summer lovin’ had me a bla-a-st,”_ she sang it with her eyes closed, but she felt Chloe’s knee behind her back, pressing into her to tell her to open them. When she did, Chloe’s shoulders were bouncing to an inaudible beat. She was biting her lip, her eyes squinched. 

“ _Summer lovin’,”_ she started, leaning her head closer to Beca, “ _Happened so faa-a-st.”_  

Beca took a deep breath, swallowing. “ _Met a girl, crazy for me-e-eee.”_

_“I met a chick, cute as could be-e-ee.”  
_

Beca had her eyes focused on Chloe’s lips to match pitch and tone and rhythm. “ _Summer days, drifting away to a-ooh-a su-u-mmer nights.”_

Chloe reached out to the zipper of Beca’s sweatshirt, running her hand over it in the same way she was brushing it over Beca’s furniture only minutes ago. As she sang, Beca sank into every dot of contact - from the knee against her back to the hand on her sweatshirt zipper to the places where their hips were just barely touching. Each spot sparked at different times throughout the song, seeming to bounce to the music too. 

Occasionally, Chloe would press a hand to her collarbone, widening her eyes and pouting to feign just the right amount of Sandy innocence. 

Which was ironic, because in all of it’s purity, it might as well have been illegal. 

And Beca was aware - somewhere in the deep part of her brain - that the way Chloe was looking at her was purposeful. She felt herself grow underneath it, becoming the big, confident personality she needed to be to play the part. 

Because, she’d learned quickly on stage during the audition, that while Chloe had the power to make you feel so small, so also had the power to make you feel so large - which was, she thought, why audiences went gaga over her. Why  _she_ was going gaga over her. 

Before she was fully aware of herself, Beca felt herself sitting up on her knees in the bed, grabbing Chloe by the wrists and pulling her up with her. The mattress was weak, squeaking under their weight, but nonetheless, Beca started bouncing slightly to the song as they sang, pleased when she saw that Chloe was following. By the end of the song, she felt her grin stretched on either side of her face, her giggles breaking through her voice and her bounces more dramatic than she’d thought she was capable of. 

As the song slowed to it’s closing, Chloe held Beca’s hands to stop the excited bouncing. “ _It turned colder, that’s where it ee-eends,”_ she sang, suddenly grabbing Beca by the shoulders and forcing her into the redhead’s chest. Swaying side to side dramatically with Beca’s head pressed to her heart, the smaller girl could harder get her line out. She rolled her eyes, trying anyway. The entire time, she tried to see how they must’ve looked from the outside, kneeling in the middle of her bed, Chloe pulling her faces in the most dramatic expressions and throwing in ridiculously exaggerated sighs. But more than that, she tried to watch Chloe and the ease with which she embraced the nonsensical. She tried her best, throwing on the best impression of “cool guy chic” she could manage, and between the dramatics of it all, Chloe laughed. 

They finished the song with their arms linked as if slow-dancing, and Beca let out the most absurd high note to pull it all to a close. The sound made Chloe’s giggles level-up into squeals, and she leaned into Beca for support. When they separated, there was a moment where the room was trapped in silence and their minds were finally settling back into themselves again, where they caught each others glances and suddenly every point of contact felt hot and cold at the same time. 

Chloe blinked, caught off guard too. “There you have it, Danny,” she said, still maintaining her innocent-Sandy accent, “It’s as easy as pie.” 

She finished that line with a press of her index finger to Beca’s nose three times before she jumped off the bed and skipped out the room without another word, leaving Beca with a pleasant ache in her abs being the only proof that the entire scene wasn’t a fever dream at all. 


	18. The One Where the Parents Find Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey Anna if you get the chance I have a minifanfic prompt that I would love for you to use. So Chloe and Beca have finally decided to tell their parents that they are in love and for Beca's family it is the first time they are hearing that their daughter is gay.... — sent by please-aca-pitch

They sat in her father’s driveway, Chloe drawing circles on Beca’s knee as the other girl just stared at the front door, taking steady breaths. 

“They know I’m coming, right?” Chloe asked again, and, though her voice was casual, Beca could tell that the weightlessness of her typical tone was gone. Beca bit her lip, nodding. 

Because, yes, they knew Chloe was coming. They’d set a plate for her, Beca was sure, excited to meet Ms. Beale officially (she was in Professor Mitchell’s class for a fraction of a second before transferring out upon Beca’s extremely urgent request) - excited to meet the girl that turned Beca into an all-girls acapella team captain, movie-enjoyer (“movie-lover” was still pushing it, considering she only endured the films because she loved watching Chloe’s lips when she recited the lines), and - Beca shuddered at the thought - occasional morning runner. Only, they didn’t exactly know about the way Beca and her friend chose to spend the nights prior to the morning runs, or how they never really made it past the halfway mark of most movies…They were exctied to meet Beca’s  _friend_ , who was a girl, but who was not a _girlfriend,_ of course, because Beca wasn’t gay, of course, because Beca dated boys and liked boys and only wore flannel because it was comfortable. 

Beca threw her head against the seat, groaning. 

“Becs,” Chloe said calmly, though Beca could still hear the nervousness in her voice. She pushed forward in her seat, pressing a hand to Beca’s cheek. “Parents love me.” 

Beca breathed out, shying away from Chloe’s touch, and opened the door. 

And, honestly, Chloe understood. This was her  _father_ , and Chloe’d heard enough stories about the man in the tweed jacket to know that Beca dreaded these family dinners. It’s why she invited herself in the first place. But her hand was still on Beca’s knee, so when the other girl moved to go outside without a word in response, Chloe squeezed, pulling her back in. 

Her entire torso was leaned over the driver’s side of the car, and her nose was touching Beca’s when Beca was forced back in her spot. The other girl’s eyes darted around to check on the front door nervously before Chloe moved her hands to either side of her face and forced Beca’s gaze on her face. 

“We’ll,” she said, pressing a kiss to the corner of Beca’s mouth. 

“Be,” she breathed, pressing kiss to the opposite corner. 

“Fine,” she whispered into Beca’s lips, moving to kiss her completely. Beca was stoic in response, but she squeaked when Chloe ran her hand through her hair, and finally gave in. The only person in the world who could convince Beca to makeup in the front seat of her car in the driveway of her father’s house was Chloe Beale. Because when Chloe Beale kissed her, she kind of, sort of, completely forgot where she was, momentarily. 

“I love you,” Beca sighed into Chloe’s touch when they broke apart for a second. Chloe breathed out, now almost completely sitting in Beca’s lap. She nipped at Beca’s neck, and Beca’s grip on her hips tightened. “I, like,  _really_ love you.” 

“Excuse me?” she heard a low voice say somewhere far away, and she wouldn’t have paid it much mind if it weren’t for the way Chloe jumped away, hitting her head on the roof of the car. Beca had to blink to clear her vision, seeing Mrs. Stepmonster Mitchell in the windshield behind Chloe’s figure and not daring to aim her glance at where Chloe was nervously staring, already smelling her dad’s cologne from entirely too close by. 

“Um,” Chloe said, still awkwardly straddling the daughter of the man she was trying to smile politely at. Not knowing what protocol to follow, she bit her lip, holding a hand out to the man. “I’m Chloe Beale. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Professor Mitchell.” 

But the hand went unshaken, and Beca still wasn’t look at her father, fiddling with the hem of Chloe’s dress nervously - which, she was certain, didn’t really help the situation, but her hands needed  _something_ to do. Still, she winced when she heard him, the sound of his voice clearer now that it wasn’t blocked out by Chloe’s lips. 

“Rebecca Margaret Mitchell. You’re  _gay?”_

 

_\--_

 

“Dad, shit” were the first words that left Beca’s mouth when her dad’s voice finally broke through the slow-motion humiliation that spread over her skin like a thick syrup. Then, the world was spinning entirely too quickly, like her words jolted the entire scene into fast forward. “Oh my god. Get off, Chlo,” she mumbled, when she became acutely aware of the compromising position they were both in. Chloe, lost in that panicked place where boundaries and social etiquette were erased completely (that place Beca saw first when she stood in the shower with the redhead, shaking under the gaze of Chloe’s at-the-time casual “boy with benefits”…like Chloe was considering  _every_  possible course of action with equal weight). She nudged Chloe harshly, shoving her out of the already open door so that Chloe, took-twelve-years-of-ballet-Chloe, skinned her knee on the edge of the car.  

“Fuck,” Beca spat again, fumbling with shaking hands at the seatbelt that was still holding her to the seat. 

“Lemme,” Chloe reached over easily, pressing one turquoise nail over the red button, “Lemme help with that.” 

Beca slapped the hand away, feeling Chloe’s breath on her shoulder and the pressure of her hand on her knee. “Dude, no.” 

“Sorry,” Chloe squeaked, jumping back again. As Beca jumped out of the car, she saw Chloe fiddling with her fingers, her eyes wide and scared like she’d never really seen them before. Throughout the entire interaction, she never hazarded a glance at her dad, or her stepmom, who stood in the driveway with a hand nervously tugging at her ear. So when she turned, she did it with her head ducked, her hand running over her neck and a bright red face meeting his. 

For a second, an outsider would think that the relation was between Chloe and Mr. Mitchell, as his eyes were nearly at the level of shock and fear that Chloe’s were at. Which, really, after knowing Chloe for two years, was quite the accomplishment. 

“Hi, Dad,” Beca bit back her grimace, pressing her jaw closed harshly. They stood in silence, and more than any time before, Beca felt Chloe’s hand lingering near here’s. She could hear the question for permission, could feel it run from Chloe’s hand to hers, and the warmth it radiated promised comfort - a sense of grounding in this worst-case-scenario situation. Quickly, more to control herself than Chloe, she crossed her arms. 

“Dinner’s getting cold, Dan,” the New Mrs. Mitchell shouted from the top of the driveway, and Beca couldn’t remember the last time she was grateful for her stepmom’s utter oblivion. 

“Right, right,” he said distractedly, blinking out of his haze and waving up at his wife. “We’re coming in now.” 

He brushed past Chloe, and if Beca didn’t know any better, there was an uncomfortable irritation that passed from him to her. It made Beca’s hands tighten into fists. Chloe leaned into Beca, taking a deep breath. “He didn’t know…” 

Beca’s tongue ran over the front of her teeth, as she looked up to the sky, like there’d be some hidden message there to tell her what to do. “No. He most definitely didn’t know.” 

Chloe wiggled a finger at the place where Beca’s arms were crossed, digging into the crack until Beca’s arms fell away. She linked her arms with Beca’s pressing her cheek on the smaller girl’s shoulder. “Okay. So that’s, like, a new development.” 

Beca laughed, then, at the nonchalance which coated Chloe’s voice. This was one of the many things she clung tightly onto: Chloe’s never-ending ability to make the world seem lighter than it was. Like lifting a semi-truck was possible if need be. Well, like lifting a semi-truck was just as possible as eating lunch was, if need be. 

Beca groaned, looking up at the hushed and hurried whispers being shot between her father and step mom as they headed into the house. In response, though, Chloe pulled her tighter. “Hey, Grumpy Gus,” she said, which made Beca wince more because that was  _not_ a nickname she ever approved of, but it still pressed her mouth into a smile. “We’re good. You and I. It’ll be fine.” 

Beca took a shaky breath, nodding. “Right, totally,” she said, more in an effort to convince herself than the redhead who seemed even more confident in her ability to woo Beca’s dad, “Totally, totally fine.” 

Chloe poked the small softness right above Beca’s hip, beginning their walk. “Now, dear God, I smell that pasta from out here, and I’m  _dying_ for real food.”  

–

“So, when did you, umm…” To her credit, Beca’s step-mom did her best to ease the situation, winking at her step-daughter when she poured just a little extra wine in Beca’s glass and walking through the dinner conversation with easy smiles and light topics. Chloe jumped on each line of dialogue, offering excited “oohs” and interested nods when she felt like it was the most appropriate. Beca was grateful for it - more than grateful, really - because the two people in the room who had zero history together knew their job was to distract the two people in the room who had all the history in the world, and they were good at what they did. 

Of course, when her step-mom slipped into the kitchen to “check on dessert” and her father followed on her heels, Beca heard the ever unhelpful “It’s totally fine. I have a cousin with a…life partner. They’re doing well and all” but still, she, like, understood that her stepmom was, at the very least  _trying_ in whatever way she knew how. 

Chloe kept a hand pressed on Beca’s knee the entire dinner, struggling through left-handed pasta-eating in order to squeeze her knee when her father grunted sarcastic and unimpressed side comments that jarred Beca awake. She was grateful for that, too, but to a lesser extent, because each shift of Chloe’s hand drew another glare or nervous glance from her father, and under the weight of his gaze she sipped much too much wine. 

“When did you…” her step-mom continued, realizing she’d delved too far into the question to back out now. Waving her fork between the two women, she bounced her head from side to side, “You know…”  

“Well, we met in the shower,” Chloe said easily. It was her favorite story to tell, and, normally, Beca felt herself growing under the light that she beamed when the topic arose. “She sang my lady jam.” 

And it really wasn’t Chloe’s fault, not at all, because when she thought back on that moment, she entered this kind of blissful newly-wed haze where the room and the people in it dissipated and left behind the voice of Beca echoing off shower stall tiled walls. 

Beca  _knew_ it wasn’t Chloe fault, but that didn’t mean she was expecting the comment, and it didn’t mean she couldn’t kick Chloe under the table between nearly spraying wine out of her nose. Professor Mitchell, it seemed, had a similar reaction, and the sound of both of them coughing through their surprised clashed against the clang of Mrs. Mitchell’s fork falling on the plate. 

“She, um,” Beca fought her humiliation, “It’s, like, not…what it…sou–”

“I don’t want to know, really,” her father held his hands up, looking down. 

“Yeah, right, totally,” Beca quickly agreed, “We’re just…acapella…it’s the most romantic of the nerdy collegiate arts.” 

Her stepmom let out a polite chuckle, picking her fork up again, and Chloe patted her hand on Beca’s knee. Beca smiled at it, at the way the room was grateful for her breathing less weight into the air. “You gonna finish that?” she asked Chloe closely, already reaching over her to get to the last few noodles on her plate. Chloe used the moment to slip her arm around the smaller girl, resting it on the top of the chair so that her fingers brushed lines on Beca’s shoulders. She hummed when Beca shifted back in her seat. 

“Things are…good, right?” her father said, scratching his temple. It was a habit he and Beca shared, and Beca resisted the urge to do it too. “With you. And her. You’re…happy?” 

The room was silent, and the clock ticking on the kitchen wall shouted into the room as the air regained it’s weight. Aside from Beca’s shuddering breath, it seemed as if everyone else was holding their breath for her response. She sat up straighter with the breath she took, offering up a weak smile. 

“Yeah, Dad,” she said simply, tapping her fork against the plate. Chloe was drawing hearts on her shoulder, and she swallowed, pushing a hair behind her ear. When she looked down, she was nodding. “I’m, like, really pretty happy.” 


	19. The One Where Beca is in High School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Beca and Chloe meet when Beca is still in high school and visiting her dad at Barden or something. They fall for each other but Chloe assumed that Beca is a college student. Beca corrects her and Chloe has to deal with 'crap, I really like this girl but she's 16 and I'm a sophomore in college. Wait... She's a minor....would this be illegal' — sent by anonymous
> 
> Can you write one where Chloe and Beca actually meet a couple years earlier when Beca is still in high school, but Chloe assumes Beca is a student at Barden at first until Beca tells her otherwise, and Aubrey teases her relentlessly for having a crush on a high schooler. — sent by anonymous

There’s a new girl in the front row of Chloe Beale’s Pastoral Literature class, and Chloe knows she’s new because she would’ve remembered a scowl like that, the way the girl sat hunched over and falling asleep - utterly confident and completely uncomfortable at the same time. She would’ve remembered the intricate doodling that adorned the new girl’s hands, or the quiet tattoo that peeked out from the thick straps of her tank-top. She knows this girl is new because if she’d been around the entire semester, her grade would be plummeted into the negative percentages, judging by the amount of information she is actually comprehending from Professor Mitchell’s lecture. She feels almost guilty, looking across the room to analyze and outline every feature of the new girl’s face and figure (the desks were arranged in a semi-circle to promote a more casual atmosphere, which was important to productive discussions, according to Professor Mitchell on the first day), because she had a habit of staring at people (particularly beautiful people) without being fully aware of how obvious she is - and not just casual staring, but the glassy-eyed, mouth-half-open kind of staring that was accompanied by ridiculous daydreams she’d be embarrassed by later in the day. And when the girl wakes up from her half-asleep state, Chloe can’t pull her stare away, even though the tugging in her stomach tells her that she should, which elicits a raise of the other girl’s eyebrows and a small, knowing smirk. It is then that Chloe blushes, finally breaking her gaze to turn to the man sitting on his desk in the front of the class, clapping his hands to signal the end of their learning period. 

And Chloe feels bad, she really does, when she looks down at her notes and realizes just how little she’d collected from today’s lesson. They had an essay due in two days about this shit, and not even she could pull a seven page essay on the way pastoral literature described human desire through scenes of pure and simple nature using three poetic examples without at least a little in-class background. Which is why she decides to brush away the hypnotizing image of the new girl in class, skip lunch, and head to Professor Mitchell’s office to ask for help. Her knock on his office door is confident and quickly followed by her opening the door slightly to peek her head in. 

“Professor Mit – Oh,” she stops in her tracks, the fake professor-smile she normally wears quickly melting back into that glassy-eyed mouth-half-open face that she wore earlier that afternoon. Because sitting on the wooden dresser, feet swinging back and forth while hands fiddled with some glass figurine, is the new girl from class. And Chloe tries to quell her over-active hopefulness, rejecting her mind’s suggestion that the weighty scowl the girl was wearing on her face had quickly dissolved into a shy smile. “You’re already with a student. Sorry. My fault. I didn’t email you, or whatever. I just…I had a….” she is rambling, stumbling over her words, her gaze barely grazing over Professor Mitchell as her eyes dart around the room nervously, “I’ll come back later.” 

“Nonsense,” Professor Mitchell holds up his hand, throwing an amused look at the new girl, who seems to notice this silent joke but doesn’t indulge the man by smiling back. “I was just visiting with my daughter. It can wait, though. What can I help you with?”

Chloe stumbles again, lurching herself into the room instead of the doorway she was standing in. She looks at the new girl again, who is now in a cross-legged position on the cabinet. Daughter. Well, that would explain the low level of formality that comes with sitting on a professor’s un-sit-able furniture and playing with his decorations. 

“You have a daughter?” is all Chloe sputters out when she catches herself, forgetting why she was in Professor Mitchell’s office in the first place. 

The man nods, gesturing to the girl. “Beca, this is one of my favorite students, Chloe Beale.” 

Chloe blushes, because, really, the class is just a quick course she took because nearly every other English slot was filled, and she’d spent most of her essay-writing time just bullshitting exactly what Professor Mitchell had spat at them earlier that day. Favorite student indeed. At least, that’s the reason she gives herself for why she is blushing. Because it definitely isn’t the result of this Beca girl and the way she is biting her cheek to keep from smiling, holding out her hand sheepishly and leaning forward - which, God, Chloe was going to hell because Beca is wearing a tank top, a  _tank top_ , and from this angle, Chloe can’t for the life of her find a family resemblance, because if Professor Mitchell looked  _this_ good she’d be failing out of his class instantly. Quickly, after what was probably too long of a pause, Chloe takes Beca’s hand, shaking it once. 

 “What year are you?” 

Beca winces, then, as if Chloe’d broached a sensitive topic, and Professor Mitchell chuckles lightly. “Sophomore,” Beca squeaks, and they notice at the same time that their hands are still intertwined, immediately breaking that chain. 

“Oh really? Same. It’s weird, I’ve never seen you around before.” 

Beca lets out a huff, squinching her nose, and Chloe can’t help the way her heartbeat quickened at the motion. “Dude,” she says, “I don’t go here. Sophomore as in…Sophomore at Thomas A. Edison High.” 

“Oh,” Chloe breathes. Another blush creeps up her neck, and when she shifts uncomfortably, the chair makes a squeak of protest. The backs of her knees are sweaty, and she is wearing a dress, so she can feel how stuck she is to her chair. “High school…” 

Beca raises her eyebrows again, this time as if to say, “Sorry, dude”, but the humble apology is followed up with a flash to Chloe’s lips, and the redhead can practically hear Beca saying “But what’re  _you_ doing to  _do_ about it”. 

And Chloe finds it hard to breathe in this moment where Beca is outlining the redhead’s lips with her eyes, feeling her stomach flip inappropriately. She isn’t good at math, but sophomore means 16, and 16 means that Beca was  _way_ too young for the images that were invading Chloe’s mind - images that wouldn’t go away…images of Beca on that dresser with Chloe leaning over her, images of Beca in that front row, Chloe in her lap…Goddamnit.  _Goddamnit._ She feels wrong and dirty and completely like the two other people in the room can read her mind, can watch the scenarios that had been playing in her head since the moment she’d noticed the girl earlier that day. It makes her feel like she’d walked into the office totally naked (which was a common nightmare of hers, despite her confidence in  _all_ of  _this_ ), and, if the people in the room  _could_ see her mind - which she genuinely feels is a possibility, judging by the mischievous sparkle in Beca’s eye - her walking into the office naked wouldn’t have been a surprising image to them.  

“Actually,” Professor Mitchell clears his throat, breaking Chloe and Beca’s gaze and scooting forward in his chair, “If you don’t mind, I have a few papers to grade. If you’re free, you could, maybe, do me a favor and take Beca out, show her around the best parts of campus, and come back around dinner? We can discuss whatever you wanted to discuss then…” 

Chloe stammers various “um”s and “uh”s, confident that taking this girl with flirty eyes and knowing smiles out and around campus was a bad  _bad BAD_ idea, but Beca interjects before Chloe got an entire sentence out. 

“That,” she says, slipping off the desk in a easy motion that…really, just, her tank top was doing  _very_ nice things in response, “sounds like a great idea, Dad.” 

When she puts a hand on Chloe’s shoulder, the redhead feels her face burn. “He wants me to go here when I graduate, but I remain unswayed. Maybe,” she squeezes Chloe’s shoulder, and Chloe is having a hard enough time managing her facial expression (which is overall pretty surprising, as she is kind of normally the fluster-er and not the fluster-ee…and mentally, she promises herself that she’d be easier on Sam, her lanky, freckle-covered lab partner, and the countless other guys she’d developed a game of winks and giggles with - because if this is penance for the satisfaction she gains from  _their_ nervous flushes, she is truly repentant). “Maybe you can convince me to come?” 

Professor Mitchell just smiles, unaware of every single suggestive wiggle to Beca’s tone, and Chloe squeaks before she can stop herself from eagerly nodding, and…God. 16…Not even close to being legal…Sophomore…Prom queens and hall passes and…she was a fucking child! A fucking child who throws Chloe a wink before sauntering out the door, convincing Chloe simply with the swish of her hips to follow her out of the office.

 _Fuck me,_ Chloe thought _._ It was going to be a long day. 

 

\--

 

Beca has a routine. And, though it would take a hell of a head-lock (or a whole lot of shots) for her to  _ever_ admit it, she lives for that routine in an eerily Posen kind of way. When the schedule cracks and the familiarity of time and place slips, she becomes even grumpier than normal, the shake of her leg not matching any beat that’s booming through her head, with bloody-bitten-lips and a tendency to snap. Which is why she can’t seem to see the words written on the page in front of her - they’re blurring, seemingly on purpose so as to force her to unlock her phone and check the time once more. 

Because part of Beca’s routine is Chloe - more particularly, at this moment, the 3:24 visit she gets from Chloe when the redhead finishes her final class of the afternoon and slumps into Beca’s room for a quick rant about the events of her day. Or a quick distraction. Or a quick stress-reliever. Or even, really, a quick cuddle. It is currently 3:30, and she heard Chloe whistling her arrival like always at 3:23, and, right now, there is an utter lack of Chloe-Beale-visit happening in her room. 

When the whistling gets loud enough to press at Beca’s temples and she cracks the lead in her pencil, she finally slams the book closed and sits back. Running her hands through her hair, she stands up and heads for the door, moving like she’s working against the syrup of time - which, with the strictness of her routine, might actually be true. 

“Chlo? You home?” she shouts down the steps. There’s a distinct red bun on the couches in the living room, and she watches as one hand reaches up uncomfortably to tug at it. 

“Beale, I see you,” Beca continues, taking another step out of the room. It pains her to say it, because it’s a game of improv in a place where they have set and distinct daily lines, but Chloe has yet to turn her head to face Beca, and the discomfort curling in her stomach at that overcomes the pain of veering even further off her routine’s track. “How was your day?” 

“Fine,” Chloe says shortly, sharply, and Beca reaches the bottom of the stairs to find Chloe’s arms crossed.

“Okayyyy _yyyyy.”_ Beca steps quietly into the living room, peeking over the edge of the couch to be nose-to-nose with Chloe. She throws on her best smile, grabbing Chloe’s shoulders and tapping them with her fingers. “What’s up, buttercup?” 

She thinks, briefly, there’s a twitch of a smile on Chloe’s lips. But it’s gone in a flash of a second. Beca moves to hop on the edge of the back of the couch, steadying herself before leaning down and trying to tear at the arms that are rigidly folded across Chloe’s chest. “Chlo?” 

A silent Chloe was something that Beca, surprisingly, was familiar with. Like grey clouds before a storm, Chloe’s silence tended to promise a night spent watching old movies and eating ice cream from the carton, interspersed with sobs about a professor or a grade or a parent or a life in general. But occasionally, breaking through the other silences, Chloe would produce a quiet that was humming, buzzing with a kind of electric sting, where her jaw was set and her brows were furrowed, and everything stirring in her eyes promised more thunder than storm. 

This version of silent Chloe, understandably, scared Beca more than the other.  _Way_ more than the other. 

“Becs,” Chloe spits by way of a response, though Beca can’t help but think it was more of an accusation than it was a response.  “When was the last time you did your laundry?” 

Beca puffs out a breath, throwing her legs over Chloe’s head and slipping onto the couch, hugging her knees to her chest. “Shit, I don’t know, like…how long ago was Christmas break?”

Something about the words snaps a fuse in Chloe, and she slaps the cushion next to her, jolting into a standing position and shaking her head. “I knew it. I effing knew it.” 

Though the words were said more to herself than to Beca, the smaller girl looks up incredulously - confused and terrified. 

“My blue sweater, Beca! My cerulean blue sweater with the buttons on the shoulders!” 

Beca cracks a grin despite herself, moving to scratch her forehead. “Cerulean, Chloe? What’re you, Crayola?”

She says it in a teasing way, reaching out to reel Chloe in, but Chloe steps back, holding her hands out to grab the air in frustration. She lets out a grunt, her eyes bugging bigger, before turning around and pressing a hand to her temple. “Goddammit. Beca, you  _borrowed_ that sweater. The Tuesday we got back from break.  _Three_ months ago.” 

And, Beca thinks, the wrath of Chloe is so much more horrifying when it’s gritted between teeth, slipping under the surface of hissed words instead of shouts. She feels for a second like she might cry under the weight of the glare pressing into her. Chloe’s not yelling by any stretch of the word, but the frustration in her voice is enough to bring the Bella house alive, with face peeking through doorways to check-in and watch. 

“Okay, Chlo,” Beca holds her hands up, standing and approaching Chloe like one would approach a wild bear, “It’s fine. I’ll wash it. No biggie.” 

“Oh,” Chloe nods furiously, still glaring at Beca, “Yes, thank you, that’s  _totally_ a not a big deal.” The sarcasm in her voice is so thick, Beca thinks they might need to spend less time together. 

“I’m lost,” Beca admits, trying to scan over Chloe’s face for an explanation. 

“My sweater - my  _favorite_ sweater - has been rotting under a pile of your filth for three effing months, and not once did you think, ‘Ah, yes, this is Chloe’s sweater- her  _favorite_ sweater - and she might want this back. I, being 2 steps away from being a proper girlfriend, will get it to her as soon as I can’?” 

“I’ve been busy!” Beca argues, “Things slip between the cracks!” 

“And then,” Chloe continues like she never heard Beca, her voice rising as she paces through the living room. “You have the fucking balls to not wake up this morning. Sleeping away like some sleepy sleeper thing without the slightest care that your girlfriend is doing everything but electrocuting you because her grad school interview is  _today_ and she  _needs_ her blue sweater - her  _favorite_ blue sweater - which is currently sitting God knows where under a pile of God knows what smelling like burned and dead rat feces and probably not even remotely unwrinkled.” 

She stops her pacing then, her eyes roaming around the room to see the heads that had popped in. Finally, she lands on Beca, and Beca sees what she’d always known the Chloe thunder to turn into: a break, a glitch, a crack in her voice and in the fire in her eyes. She’s near tears, and Beca’s eyes are already watery at the tone of Chloe’s voice - like a kid who can’t control crying after being scolded. Beca doesn’t have the brain-space to wonder which is worse: silent, fuming Chloe or the calm, disappointed Chloe that comes so quickly after. 

“Shit,” Beca says, tugging at her ear. “Shit.” 

“Yeah,” Chloe snaps. Her hands are on her hips, and she’s nodding. 

“That’s your lucky sweater,” Beca says, as if she’s announcing it newly to the world. Chloe throws the same “Yeah” at her, with just as much spite. “Shit.” 

“Laundry.  _Now,”_ Chloe’s voice raises a little more, and she throws a finger up to point to Beca’s room. “Mine  _and_ yours. You’re on a weekly schedule starting right now, and when you borrow something of mine, you better bet I’m pulling out Aubrey’s old Memo cards so this doesn’t happen again.” 

Throughout the orders, Beca watches as the harshness in her face falls, her tone softening - not a lot, but enough. Nodding, Beca takes a cautious step towards Chloe. “Aye aye cap’n,” she says, throwing out a salute. Chloe takes a deep breath, allowing her shoulders to cave in slightly. “Additionally, this is where I say I’m sorry, and also you don’t need a sweater to be lucky when you ARE luck, and also…just…yeah, how did the interview go?” 

Chloe doesn’t respond, instead falling face first into the couch and somehow pulling Beca down with her. When she turns around, her face is as smooth as it’s ever been, cleared of fire and filled with light again. “Well, the person was totally five minutes late, but, whatever, I didn’t mention it because I…”

She continues on like that, trailing through each question given by the interviewer and her subsequent response, all the while playing with Beca’s hand absentmindedly. 

Beca hums in agreement, still trying to still her racing heart at the sight and sound of an angry Chloe, and using the fact that she was still right on schedule as a way of calming herself down. 


	20. The One Where Chloe Forgets To Hold Beca's Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omg can you please write a fic about Chloe forgetting to hold becas hand. Just like in your tags pleaseeeeeeee I beg you it sounded so cute seriously you're a fucking genius!!!!! — sent by anonymous

Beca didn’t know when it started, or why, or how. But slowly, she started to realize how cold her hands got when Chloe wasn’t around. She realized that she felt wrong walking into a room without Chloe tackling her into a bear hug, and on the few days the redhead missed Bellas, choreography felt drier, colder…emptier. Movie nights without the tangle of Chloe’s feet were impossible to get through, and she always slept better when her breath was pressed against the back of Chloe’s neck. She didn’t know when it started, or why, or how. But slowly, she became dependent on her physical contact with Chloe. 

There was no way in hell she’d ever tell Chloe that, though. 

She clouded her grins and giggles (because, yes, there were giggles - gleeful, humiliating giggles) in winces and sarcastic comments, keeping her arms stick-straight and pulling her neck as far back as possible. ( “You know you have the body heat equivalent to that of an old dude in a steam room,” she grumbled when, in the beginning of sophomore year, Chloe had practically thrown her body on top of the smaller girl’s as a means of “getting comfortable” while they watched the Bachelor. “Well, perfect. That means I can melt your cold-hearted little fairy soul,” Chloe said, burrowing her head more into Beca’s neck, only to hear Beca’s very audible scoff: “Why the fuck am I a fairy?”). Because if Beca for one moment hinted that Chloe’s constant contact was her lifeline, she didn’t think she could stand the smug grin that would ensue. Frankly, if she were being honest with herself, she didn’t think she could control her reaction to the smug grin that would ensue. 

So, for the most part, she stayed neutral, if not a little jokingly negative, about Chloe’s touch. As neutral as she could be, though both she and Chloe felt the way her eyes didn’t seem to react the same way as her body did. 

But as they walked from the rehearsal space back to the Bellas’ house, Beca’s hand twitched. Chloe was giving a spiel about the importance of the syncopated booty shake, and how if they couldn’t get that down then there was no (she repeats,  _no_ ) chance at ICCA’s this year. Her words, though, were muted as every one of Beca’s senses were tuned to the hand that flailed dramatically during the redhead’s lecture.

“Um,” she finally spoke up, her own hand twitching in it’s emptiness. And, god, this was the most ridiculous thing, but there was this issue she had with compulsion and routine and her thoughts were quickly glitching without each puzzle piece of the day being perfectly in place. “Wait, Chlo?”

The redhead stopped her speech short, pausing when she saw the scared look on Beca’s face. “I need you to hold this for a second.” 

With one quick breath, Beca’s stride met Chloe’s despite their difference in leg lengths, and before Chloe could throw out a confused sputter, Beca’s hand slipped neatly into hers. Within less than a second, Beca could breathe easier, feeling herself more grounded than she was before Chloe’s hand was in hers. Chloe, to her surprise, didn’t laugh or smug or squeal, but only squeezed her hand around Beca’s and pulled her infinitesimally closer with each step they took. 

“Thanks.”


	21. The One With the One Night Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So what about Beca and Chloe gets totes drunk and have a crazy night ending up in bed. Next day Beca remembers slowly, bit by bit, but Chloe is completely oblivious - anonymous

Beca is not a morning person. Tangled as far into the covers as she can get, she is the type of human who cusses out the birds outside her window, hisses at the morning sun, and finds 3:00 pm to be the perfect time for breakfast. From their first Bellas rehearsal, Chloe discovered that Beca is virtually unavailable from the hours of 5am to 12pm. In fact, she’s pretty sure the smaller girl functions with her eyes closed until at least half past noon. 

Which is why it’s such an amazing feat in itself that Beca’s mind is clear enough to register the 6:37am that flashes across her phone screen at the edge of the nightstand. And why it’s even more surprising when she has enough brain power to recognize that this nightstand is not, in fact,  _her_ nightstand. That this is not, in fact,  _her_ bed. And that the soft puffs of breath she hears against her chest are not, in fact, coming from  _her_ mouth. 

She doesn’t  _want_ to be awake at 6:37am, but when she glances down enough to see red hair flash through her vision, an understanding of her complete nakedness hits her at the same time as her pounding headache. 

“Shit,” she breathes out, pressing a hand to her forehead to try to stop the room from spinning. “Shit, shit shit.” 

The girl wrapped around her hums, pulling her tighter.  _Chloe Beale_ would  _be a magnet-cuddler._ The thought pops up in the very back of Beca’s mind, pushed quickly aside by the realization that  _Chloe Beale_ was cuddling her. Chloe Beale was  _cuddling_ her. Chloe Beale was cuddling  _her._ Naked. In bed. At 6:37am. 

She doesn’t think much when she tries to tuck and roll out of Chloe’s grip, nearly falling onto the floor before scrambling to get her clothes on. Her main objective is to get every noticeable and necessary item of hers out of the room - including herself - before Chloe wakes up all doe-eyed and ready to talk. There isn’t time for a moment of euphoria at finally “settling that bout of competing toners” (Amy’s words) or an instant of self-loathing for not remembering the slightest detail of what would be considered her wildest dream come true. No. Because Beca’s not a morning person, and her mind is spinning off track at 100mph. The only thing she can focus on is that if  _she_ couldn’t remember last night, then miss Jiggle Juice extraordinaire certainly wouldn’t, and she can’t exactly think of a more uncomfortable situation than waking up naked next to the best friend you’ve dreamt about and having them be quite disappointed at the game they brought home last night. So she rushes, stubbing her toe on the edge of the bed in an effort to reach her phone before it let out another series of vibrations. When she closes the door, half-dressed and now  _very_ aware of how much her liver hated her, she’s pretty certain Chloe didn’t notice a thing. 

_[Fat Amy (3:42am)]: You and the Ginge ran out pretty suddenly…_

_[Fat Amy (3:43am)]: I wish you the best of luck, captain._

_[Sex-God Stacie (5:53am)]:_   _Amy said you didn’t come back to the room…_

_[Sex-God Stacie (5:57am)]: So…………….._

Beca doesn’t really consider why the fuck her Bella sisters are up so early (she assumes Amy spends normal sleeping hours acquiring new talents like unicycle-riding and peeling bananas with her feet. Stacie has a pretty tight fitness regime to fit between Bellas rehearsals and her pre-med track, so, that’s not too big of a mystery). Instead, she quickly finds the call button and holds her phone up to her ear, trying to rush across the quad without anyone noticing. 

“I want the dirty details,” Stacie says excitedly by way of hello. Beca can hear the gym in the background. “What happened last night?”

“Um,” Beca squeaks nervously, opening the door to her dorm. “That’s the thing. I don’t really know.” 

On the other end, Beca can hear a metal weight being dropped. “You’ve got to be joking, Beca.” 

Though the other girl couldn’t see her, Beca offers a weak smile. 

“We’ve been waiting two and a half years for this and you  _don’t remember_?!” 

“We?” Beca asks, storming into her room to find, sure enough, Amy’s bed made and empty. 

“The Bellas are involved in this mess just as much as you two are,” Stacie answers simply, “I’ve been caught between so many eye-fucking sessions it’s gotten hard to count.” 

“Right,” Beca says, throwing the things she’s carrying precariously onto the floor, “Um. Did you see –” 

“Well,” Stacie hums, and Beca hears her turn the speed on her machine down, “What’s the last thing you remember?” 

Beca sighs. “Amy convincing us that the Three-Headed Crocodile Canon was a good game to play…” She groans at the memory. The drinking game was forbidden from most Bella functions ever since it led to Aubrey getting drunk enough to perform a strip-tease to “Mashed Banana”, but occasionally Amy would introduce it at  _just_ the right point in the night for everyone to be buzzed enough to agree. 

Last night, when Amy suggested it, Chloe squeezed Beca’s knee, leaning closer in the cross-eyed way she did when she had too much jiggle juice in her system. “I think that’s an aca-awesome idea, Ames,” she slurred, but she was staring at Beca, and all Beca was capable of doing with those eyes pinned on hers was nod in agreement. 

“Right,” Stacie says, “So, that happened. But, like, you two were all over each other all night. CR said she heard Chlo say something about you in her dress…” 

“Yeah,” Beca squeaked, her grip on the phone tightening, “She liked the dress.” 

More than liked, really, because it  _was_ Chloe’s dress. Storming into her room last night, already smelling a bit of alcohol, Chloe shoved the red thing into Beca’s arms and declared that they were going to have a night out. It was short and tight and completely different from anything Beca felt remotely comfortable in, but she paired it with her leather jacket and some heavy eyeliner. By the time she made her way to her mirror, it kind of felt like  _her_ regardless of how her memory obsessed previously over Chloe’s figure in that same dress. The whole thing took Chloe by surprise, and it had made Beca giddy seeing the way the red head lost her ability to speak. 

After a round of Fat Amy’s drinking game, though, Chloe had quite a few words to say about that dress. Or rather, how much she was starting to  _dislike_ that dress. Because of…reasons. 

Right. 

Reasons. 

 _Those_ reasons. 

“Fuck,” Beca breathes, slamming her head against the desk she’s sitting at. She hoped that the impact would pound out the images that were running through her head - the quick walk back to campus, stumbling and rushed until they made it Chloe’s room, the slam of Chloe’s door behind Beca’s back and…

“Fuck,” she repeats, because now she can see it all on replay. Over and over. And over. She checks her phone:  _no new messages_. Chloe would be up for her morning run now too. 

“There you go, girly,” Stacie sing-songs, “I knew your head wouldn’t let you forget something that juicy. Wanna share with the class?” 

Beca opens her mouth to give some excuse, to brush aside the request because  _yes_ Stacie was her friend and  _yes_ Stacie was not one to be shy about these things but Beca, for one, was, and even thinking about the night she’d had is making her blush profusely. Only, the excuse doesn’t come, because instead there’s a knock at her door. 

“Um, you know, I’ll text you later,” she says, scratching her head, “We’ll…get lunch or something.” 

“I’ll bring a pen,” Stacie says jokingly, “I’ve been told by the girls to take notes.” 

Beca rolls her eyes, standing when another knock comes at her door. “Bye, Stace.” 

She opens the door with a huff, throwing her phone on her bed. “What could anyone want at seven in the mor–” she pauses, meeting Chloe’s eyes, which are entirely too bright for the night they’d both had. 

The night they both had. 

Right. 

That. 

Beca chokes on the air she’s trying to breathe, then, but Chloe doesn’t seem to notice, bursting through the room with a hum and a wink. She hands a cup of coffee to Beca and moves to sit on her bed. 

“Are you going to join me or are you going to keep standing there like a dumb-dumb?” Chloe chirps, looking at Beca with a confused expression. 

“Right,” Beca says carefully, sounding out the letters and sitting down as far away from Chloe as she can manage. “So. I’m surprised you’re up.” 

“ _You’re_ surprised  _I’m_ up?” Chloe laughs, slapping Beca on the arm. The brush of contact makes Beca gasp, but she covers it up with a cough. “I wasn’t really expecting Miss Bright and Sunny Beca Mitchell to be up and out of bed after a night like last night.” 

“W-what?” Beca’s mind is still barely functioning, but she can feel the panic on her face. “Um. I mean. What?” 

Chloe laughs again, taking a sip of her coffee. “Three-headed Crocodile Canon, Becs,” she says simply, “We should’ve made that game absolutely forbidden and played under the penalty of the vocal-chord-eating wolves. I think I blacked-out after the first round. God only knows what the other Bellas did, right? Aca-awkward.” 

She sings the last word so that it rings through the room, and Beca raises her eyebrows, letting out a puff of breath. Aca-awkward indeed. 

“Same,” she says weakly, looking down at her coffee and taking a sip. They sit in silence for a few moments, and Beca feels Chloe’s stare pressing over her. She thinks she hears the other girl sigh, but when she looks over, Chloe’s examining her cuticles. 

She completely unaware of the bra in Chloe’s pocket, the bra that Not-Morning-Person Beca Mitchell left hanging on Chloe’s bed-post when she ran out this morning. The bra that Chloe found after she’d been woken up by a smaller woman cussing at the nightstand she’d stubbed her toe on. The bra that was going to be returned, along with a cup of coffee and a long morning kiss, until Chloe knocked on Beca’s door to find the other girl’s face contorted in a panic that was in direct conflict with the plans Chloe laid out. 

Aca-akward. 

Um. Yeah. 

 

\--

 

“So,” Stacie’s grin is wider than Beca has ever seen it, and she doesn’t try to hide it as she blows on the mug of tea in her hands, “Was it good?” 

“Was what good?” Beca asks, brushing invisible crumbs off the booth they sit in. She bites her lip, picking at the already raw skin. She doesn’t think she’s stop biting since Chloe left her room that morning, acting oddly cheery - even for her. She’d decided, somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind, that she’d keep nervously biting at her lip until the memory of Chloe’s lip gloss smeared over them slips away. Until the taste of the other girl is gone from the edges of her mouth. 

It hasn’t worked thus far. The vague images of the night before had been buzzing through Beca all morning, and she swears she can feel the electricity shaking her hands still. 

Stacie rolls her eyes, putting the mug down. “No no no, Becs,” she says, running her hand over the rim of the glass, “You do  _not_ get to go all mute on me now.” 

Beca groans, pressing her head against the back of the booth seat. “I don’t know what to do, Stace.” 

“Well, does she remember it?” 

“No,” Beca winces, thinking about Chloe that morning - how she’d brushed up against Beca more than a few times, and the marks on her neck that couldn’t have gone unnoticed. “At least, I don’t think she did.”

“Oof,” Stacie grimaces, throwing Beca a pitying glance, “Rough. You’ll get better though, Becs, I’m sure –” 

“No, not…” Beca rushes to her own defense, her eyes bugging, but Stacie is smiling, her eyes teasing, “Not for that reason.” 

“So it  _was_ good,” Stacie determines, humming. There’s victory in her eyes, and Beca can see her physically struggling not to pick up her phone to text the other Bellas. 

“Can you, like, get your head out of the gutter and help me here, maybe?” Beca huffs. She’s frustrated. More than frustrated. 

Because it  _was_ good. Like, really good. Like,  _oh that’s what everyone’s been talking about_ good. And because she’s still feeling the aftershocks - when she blinks, she sees Chloe. Not the Chloe from last night, but the Chloe from this morning and from all the mornings, the Chloe from rehearsals, the Chloe from all the Trebles’ parties…every time she closes her eyes there’s another snapshot of a moment where Chloe set her senses on fire. Those moments went unnoticed or ignored by Beca’s mind (or was pushed down heartlessly and continuously with a vigor Beca didn’t know her brain had), and now that everything had been jolted awake, it was as if her brain wanted to show her how much she’d missed when she had her head turned off. If this morning was any indication, she didn’t know how to be around Chloe anymore - she didn’t know  _who_ to be around Chloe anymore - because she wouldn’t call the stuttering, puddling mess that stood in her place that morning “her”. 

“Yeesh, it couldn’t have been that good if your still this wound u–”

“Stace!” Beca shrieks, her hands balling into fists at her side. “It was…, God,” she pauses, closing her eyes to get the right word. Of course, though, when she does that her mind decides to show her the time Chloe danced while she baked Jessica’s birthday cake. There was frosting donning her neck and Beca wanted to –

“Okay, point taken,” Stacie says after Beca spends more than a few moments with her eyes closed, an uncomfortable smile rising up her face. “Point  _very_ much taken. You go, Mitchell.” 

Beca smiles then, a friendly smile, shaking her head to brush off Stacie’s praises. She’s reminded, then, of why she’s meeting with Stacie in the first place. “So what do I–” 

“Right,” Stacie interrupts, putting both hands on the table. She leans forward, her face straight, as if she’s had this plan all along and was waiting for  _Beca_ to bring it up. “So, if she doesn’t remember, then you…jog her memory. That is, if you want her to remember at all.”

“I do,” Beca says quickly, becoming more shy after Stacie throws her a grin, “I, like,  _really_ want her to remember.” 

Stacie smiles at Beca like a proud mother, and it makes Beca squirm. “Good, girly. So  _make_ her remember. And please, dear God, make it quick, because we haven’t exactly been waiting two years for you two to get it on once and give up on it.” 

Beca quirked her lip, playing again with the booth’s cushion, her brows furrowing. 

“Especially after that face you made when you were thinking about it. Because…like, wow.” 

 

\--

 

Chloe Beale waited for Beca to follow. It was a pattern of the universe, a natural flow. From the day at the Activities Fair to now, two years later, Chloe would pass by and, sooner or later, Beca would stand up and follow. Where Chloe was fast, Beca was slow, mulling over every single step she took so as to ensure she wouldn’t hurt herself. 

So Chloe told herself, fiddling with the purple lace of Beca’s bra mindlessly as she looked down at the phone on her bed, that this was no different. She just had to wait for Beca to follow. That was it. 

Only, it  _was_ different. It was very different. Because in all the instances of this game of follow-the-leader, Chloe could be patient. She wanted Beca to join the Bellas, to stand up to Aubrey, to break up with Jesse, but that ‘want’ was minuscule in comparison to what she was feeling now.  With Beca’s scent still on the sheets, Chloe couldn’t sit on her bed without remembering how Beca responded when she ran her hands through her hair. She couldn’t open her door without remembering how Beca used it to pause, to hold her there for a moment before they had to separate in order to get inside. She couldn’t stay in her room without noting the exact places on the floor where Beca’s (well, Chloe’s technically) dress sat crumpled, where Chloe’s skirt was strewn. She spent the entire morning unable to control the shake of her leg, her fingers tangling around the bra-strap. And amidst the way her stomach twisted, amidst the way her breath was still fluttery, she had to  _wait._

When her phone buzzed, Chloe nearly leaped off the bed. Once she returned from delivering coffee to a clearly flustered and confused Beca, she meant to open her computer and start working on that Psyche essay. She ended up just sitting cross-legged with her phone in her lap and Beca’s bra threaded through her fingers. 

“Hey, um,” Beca’s voice broke through the phone before Chloe could even say hi. There was sounds of clanking in the background, and Chloe assumed she was holed up in the school cafe - her usual Sunday spot. “So, I’ve got a little issue.” 

Chloe thought she heard Beca say something to someone else, harsh and hurried and nervous. She chose to ignore it, but when she opened her mouth to talk, she paused. She wasn’t accustomed to not knowing how to act around Beca. Sure, she had always approached the smaller girl with her usual level of enthusiasm cranked up to Power Ten, but this uncomfortable static between them was new. And thought they coped this morning, over the phone and without Chloe’s easy smile, it seemed more unnatural. More scary. More tense. 

“You know, I think Stacie has cream for that,” Chloe said, biting her cheek. She felt an unusual amount of pride at the irritated tut that Beca gave. 

They were doing good. They were being normal. 

“Shut up, Beale,” she grumbled, though there was still a shake to her tone. Chloe sighed into it, trying to smooth out the crinkles of the conversation. 

“Okay, whaddya need, Becs?” Chloe finally moved her legs, sitting on the edge of her bed. They’d fallen asleep a long time ago, and were now numb, tingling. 

“Um,” Beca sighed over the phone, then stuttered, “Right, well, I’ve lost something, and, um, I dunno. I just…” She paused several times during the conversation, and Chloe thought she heard another voice urging her on. “I was wondering if you could help me retrace my steps.” 

“Yes,” Chloe said, a touch too quickly. She didn’t mind, though. If there was one thing that didn’t embarrass Chloe, it was her obvious enthusiasm. Biting back her smile, she squeezed her nails into the palm of her hand. “I mean, totally. Yes. I would love to. Meet you in the quad in five?” 

With a muffled confirmation, Chloe hit the ‘end call’ button, stretching out her toes and bouncing slightly on her mattress. 

She just had to wait. 

–

“In order for this to work, you need to tell me what you lost, you goof,” Chloe said, immediately linking arms with Beca. The smaller girl jumped, surprised, and never seemed to fully touch the ground again. She had the demeanor of a chipmunk, or a squirrel, in that she seemed to be moving at normal speed but her actions were in fast forward. 

She let out a weak smile, tugging an invisible hair behind her ear and looking down. “Right. Right.”

Chloe nudged Beca, leaning down to get into her line of sight. Every moment of contact was more painful than the next, flashing back what was once hazy memory and was now all too vivid recollection, but Chloe pressed into it, pressed into  _her_ because the closer she got, the less she had to wait. “So…?”

Beca seemed surprised that the conversation was still happening, and she spun around to unlink their arms so she could think straight. “My bra.” 

She spat it out quickly, straight into the dirt, while her fingers fumbled with her rings. Chloe grabbed the hands, pulling the girl close. “You dirty duck,” she said with a smile and wink that almost caused her physical pain, “And where, pray tell, does a fine young lady lose her bra on a Saturday night?” 

They were face to face, and when Chloe stopped with her light mocking, she watched Beca swallow, the DJ’s eyes trailing up nervously to meet Chloe’s but flickering at the freckle on the redhead’s lip. 

“Isn’t ah–” Beca stopped to take in a breath, but the action seemed to bring her closer to Chloe somehow. She seemed even more breathless after. “Isn’t that the question?” 

Chloe bit her lip, confirming how closely Beca was watching her. The bra in her back pocket seemed to burn her skin at this point. But she pushed away the fire, bouncing her head back and forth and looking up. “Ah, see, it appears that that depends on who you ask…” 

When Chloe’s gaze meets Beca again, she watches her eyes widen. She was always like a small animal - always flittering, always hiding, always skipping over this and that. That’s why Chloe learned to proceed with such caution. But now, she looked precisely like the cover of a National Geographic - scared and flustered and ready to run, but also ready to move closer, ready to find a way to move closer though the distance between them was already zero. Chloe leaned in - slowly, so that Beca could run if she needed to - and put her lips next to Beca’s ear. “Beca,” she said quietly, one hand breaking from the smaller girl’s grip to reach behind her. “What are you looking for?”

“I-I…” Beca stuttered her breath on Chloe’s neck, surprised and scared and fighting the double-urge of pushing away and pulling closer. Her free hand shot up, gesturing wildly to grasp the right words. 

Chloe silenced her with her lips, finally pulling away from her ear to face her and put both arms around her neck. She nearly touched Beca’s mouth, but paused. Waited. Beca closed the infinitesimal distance after moment of thought, pressing her entire self into Chloe so much so that she stumbled. 

When they finally pulled away, Beca was breathless, smiling, and Chloe lowered her hands from Beca’s neck, grabbing the other girl’s and slipping purple fabric into her hands. She pressed the bra into Beca’s palm, grinning. “Does that refresh your memory?” 

The hand holding Beca’s bra balled up into a fist, and before Chloe could react, Beca was punching her lightly. “You bitch!” she said, her tone finally acquiring the classic Beca-taste that it had been missing all morning. “You knew!” 

Chloe shrugged, pulling Beca closer to her and pressing a quick kiss to her lips, “You did too, loser.” 

Beca only hummed, leaning back in for more, but Chloe pressed a finger to the purse lips. 

“How about we retrace our steps,” Chloe started, her grin widening, “And this time you don’t leave me in the morning to feel like a common whore.” 

Beca rolled her eyes, reaching out for Chloe’s hand. “Deal.” 


	22. The One With Country Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bechloe camping maybe with some Bella's maybe not but they defski end up in the same tent. Also alcohol and after a day hiking and drinking Beca starts drunkenly singing "I Wanna Check You for ticks" under her breathe and its country so Chloe is shocked etc etc... I decided for once I would submit one instead of texting you my ideas. — sent by scrawniest-calamity

“I fail to see why pretending to be homeless wanderers for a day is considered a fun group activity,” Beca huffed, throwing the tent stakes on the ground. A strand of hair had come out of her messy bun, hanging over her nose, and when she tried to blow it away, it stubbornly refused to move. 

“You,” Chloe said, tilting her head and smiling, “Are freaking adorable when you can’t do something.” 

“No, I can do it,” Beca answered, her lips in a tight line, “I just don’t  _want_ to, because I don’t endorse the idea of us all sleeping on the ground in the middle of the woods when less than a few miles away, we have fucking  _beds_ to sleep in.” 

“I’m not walking all the way back there tonight,” CR muttered, finishing up her tent with a clap of her hands, “And by the looks of you, you wouldn’t even make it a few steps away from camp.” 

Chloe nodded, moving to pick up one of the stakes at Beca’s feet. “She’s kinda right.” 

“Shut up and help me, Beale,” Beca grumbled, grabbing the stake from Chloe, “This is your patch of cold, hard ground too.” 

“Right, and the sooner you two friend-zone-toners finish setting up, the sooner we get to break out the booze so….,” Amy had already set up her tent too, and was currently walking around it spraying a circle of bugspray on the ground, “Get aca-moving.” 

–

It had been longer than a long day, and Beca felt it in every part of her body. From her toenails to the ends of her hair, she ached with the kind of sweet satisfaction of a day of activity, the exhaustion of the absorbing powers of the sun, and the heaviness of a tiny shared flask of scotch (courtesy of CR, who only ever provided for herself and Beca, because no one else could stand the taste of hard liquor), two beers, and Amy’s “famous” (by self-declaration) grape juice and vodka mixed drink. 

“You still hatin’ it?” Chloe said, her consonants heavy with alcohol, carrying a hum that stretched her words out slightly. She pulled back the zipper on her sleeping bag, scooting in. At her question, Beca turned to face her. 

“I still don’t see the point,” she said, pouting. “But it has certain advantages.” 

Chloe smirked, raising her eyebrows. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Liiiike,” Beca giggled, looking up tapping her finger against her chin, “An excuse to drink too much, bring out my inner arsonist, and  _finally_ hear the secret Jessica and Ashley kool-aid story from sophomore year.” 

Chloe, like usual when drunk (or sober, really), had gotten closer to Beca without the smaller girl realizing it. Her eyes were sparkling, though her lids were half closed. “And that’s it?” 

Beca bounced her head from side to side, shrugging. “If you’re looking for me to mention this,” she gestured between the two of them, “We technically end up sleeping in the same bed most nights, and this is on the  _floor_  and it’s  _outside_ so, sorry, but at-home cuddle sessions with you win out.” 

Chloe’s jaw dropped, and still around the edges of her mouth was a smile. “Cuddle sessions?! Excuse me, Beca Mitchell, how much have you had tonight??”

Beca rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “You suck,” she muttered, turning suddenly to face the tent instead of Chloe. The other girl just hum, turning back to her back and staring up. Just as she was beginning to fall asleep, she heard the light whisper of Beca’s voice. 

“ _Cuz I’d like to see you, out in the moonlight_ ” the words were just small enough, just tight enough, to suggest sleep rearing it’s head. Still, between sighs, she continued. “ _I’d like to kiss you way out in the sticks.”_

Chloe watched Beca nuzzle her head into her pillow, running her fingers over the seam of the case. The girl had music running in her veins, pounding through her head, and Chloe watched it come out in the tap of her fingers when she was focused or the bounce of her knee when she was nervous. She’d spent enough sleepovers by Beca’s side to know her affinity for mid-sleep singing, how her world would become hazy but not hazy enough, and singing through the song in her head seemed to release some of the real world things she held onto that kept her eyes so stubbornly open. 

The smaller girl turned to face Chloe, her eyes closed, but Chloe could see activity there that implied - to at least some extent in that drunk, exhausted mind of Beca - she was still awake. “ _I’d like to walk you through a field of wildflowers,”_ it was a whisper more than a voice now, almost a hum, “ _And I’d like to check you for ticks.”_

Chloe bit on her lip to keep from smiling too wide, or, God forbid, letting out a laugh. But Beca’s eyes were fluttering open, and she was hazy and lazy and drunk, but she was awake for sure. She smiled goofily when she saw Chloe’s smile, her eyes still stuck in the halfway point between sleep and awake. 

“Wha-mmm?” she muttered, her mouth barely opening. Chloe’s smile was only growing, and she was sticking her neck in and raising her shoulders to hold it back. She felt Beca poke her in the ribs. “Chlo, wha’mm?”

“Nothing,” Chloe said, finding Beca’s hand and wrapping it around her. “Nothing. It’s just…” when she paused, she found Beca’s eyes. “Country?” 

Beca’s goofy smile fell immediately, and though her eyes were still half open, they shot Chloe a glare. “Shut-ummm,” she said, her words still falling mostly into the pillow, “Brad is a talented dude.” 

Chloe rolled her eyes, pushing their intertwined hands towards Beca and then pulling them back. “You like country.” 

“No,” Beca said easily. She was tired, and it wasn’t argumentative, just definitive. 

“Yes,” Chloe said, leaning even closer, “You, Ms. Mitchell, are just a regular country girl.” 

“Mmmm not,” Beca argued weakly, and Chloe took her hand to peck kisses on her knuckles. 

“It’s fine,” she said, chirping, “I’ve always like a girl in cowboy boots anyway.” 

Beca groaned, finally breaking their hand-holding to turn back around, feeling Chloe’s hand run up her arm. “Go t’bed, Beale.” 

“Only if you do.”

“Deal.” 

A few moments of silence passed over the tent, then, 

“Sleep tight, Cowgirl.” 


	23. The One With the Puppy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mini-Fic Prompt: Beca and Chloe get a pet together! Please and Thank-you.*WC68* — sent by welshcakes68

“Absolutely not,” Chloe squeaked, looking down at the puddle of red-brown fluff in Beca’s arms, “No. Becs, we’re living in a  _dorm_ room.” 

Beca shrugged, her eyes focused on the puppy. She scratched under its ears, cooing when the small animal thumped his feet to her touch. “It’s a dog, Chlo,” Beca said, as if she were talking about talking care of a rock, “And it likes us.  _And_ it doesn’t have a home.” 

“You have no proof of that,” Chloe argued, still eying the dog suspiciously, “There could be some little three year old desperately searching for her best furry friend.” 

Beca grunted, holding the dog in Chloe’s face. The redhead now had two puppy-dog pouts staring up at her. The dog whimpered, reaching out it’s paws towards Chloe, and, if Chloe didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought the sound came from Beca - who was looking at her as if she held the power of the world in her hands. Chloe broke down, taking the dog but throwing in an eye roll for dramatic effect. 

“I kinda thought animals wouldn’t be your thing,” she said to Beca, trying not to laugh at the shake of the dog’s tail. Nonchalantly, Beca shrugged. 

“Yeah, but there’s something about this one…” 

It didn’t take long with the small creature for Beca to realize why, exactly, she took such a liking to it. She’d always preferred animals to people, finding more comfort in their eyes than the constant need for conversation that humans tended to bring to the…err…food bowl. But after what one could politely describe as an unpleasant meeting with the stepmonsters two Bernese Mountain dogs the summer of her eleventh year, she’d sworn off the drooly fartballs in favor of cats in all their quiet solitude. 

But this dog, proudly strutting in front of Beca’s car without any hesitation, pulled her in. “What makes you think I was gonna stop?” she said when she got out of her car to pick the dog up. The animal just looked up at her gleefully, as if she’d fallen for it’s master plan, and licked the side of her cheek. “You place way to much trust in strangers with large vehicles,” Beca muttered, throwing the dog in the passenger seat before starting the car again. She hadn’t moved five feet forward before the dog was in her lap, two paws on the wheel and a wiggle of it’s tail that was unbearably cute. There was a begrudging nature to her allowance, as if Beca had to pretend to be irritated by the small dog’s friendliness. Still, she was mindlessly running her hands over it’s fur in traffic, twisting the curly red-brown ears through her fingers. Even then, she could see the similarities. What was the difference, really, between standing in front of a moving car in the street and bursting into someone’s shower? 

When Chloe held the dog, though, her smile finally breaking through as the puppy worked it’s magic on yet another begrudging human, the resemblance was striking. Chloe touched her nose to the small dog’s, and, without hesitation, the dog reached up to lick her. Her squeal only made the dog more excited, wiggling so much that she almost dropped it. Their shared smile reached up to their impossibly light eyes, and Beca swore she saw Chloe’s hips wiggle like the dog’s. 

“So…” Beca probed, waiting for a verbal confirmation. Chloe was right, the logistics of the situation were less than to be desired, and they weren’t  _technically_ allowed to have a pet in the dorms (not to mention they had to be extra careful to follow the rules as their housing application went through the Dean’s Office). But there was a familiar just-can’t-say-no feeling to this dog, and Beca knew Chloe felt it too. The redheads (both the animal and the human) perked up at the sound of Beca’s voice, grinning.

“Fine,” Chloe allotted, her gaze going back to the dog. “But I get to name her, and she’s sleeping in your bed.” 

–

She didn’t sleep in Beca’s bed. No matter how hard they tried, Dixie (because, dear God, Chloe’s obsession with the Dixie Chicks did not die out along with the rest of the world) would slip out of Beca’s bed the minute the smaller woman fell asleep, snuggling into Chloe’s side and staying there until morning. Occasionally, Beca would wake up in the middle of the night, moving to pick Dixie back up before losing herself in the act of resisting the desire to take a picture. 

Beca learned, though, when Chloe decided to go out for the night to “blow off steam”, that Dixie slept in Chloe’s bed because she couldn’t fall asleep any other way. 

“She knows you’re leaving,” Beca said, eying the way Dixie sat at Chloe’s heels while Chloe fiddled with an earring. The dog’s eyes were impossibly wide and begging, and when they flickered to Beca, Dixie whimpered. 

Chloe tutted, “It’ll only be for a few hours.” Bending at the knee to prevent her skirt from riding up, she held a hand out for Dixie. Dixie grabbed it with her paw, laying her chin sadly on Chloe’s fingers and whimpering again. “When’d you teach her this?”

Chloe sounded impressed, though she’d learned after a few weeks that though Dixie was her bed-mate, she was Beca’s buddy. Every day she would come home from classes and discover a new thing that Dixie could do, courtesy of Beca and a handful of treats. While Dixie clung onto Chloe, she  _moved_ with Beca, like one was a lifeline and the other was an extension of self. 

Beca shrugged, watching the two interact. “Few days ago. That chin thing is new, though.” 

“Mm, but the begging is not,” Chloe muttered, scratching Dixie’s ears and standing up again. Dixie let out another squeak, standing to put her paws on Chloe’s calf and scratch lightly. “God, she’s almost as clingy as you, you know,” Chloe said, nudging the dog away and reaching for her phone. 

“Hey, I take offense to that!” Beca said, though she wasn’t denying it vehemently. She knew she could wrap herself too tightly around Chloe - they both knew - both she always comforted herself with the fact that she had both arms wrapped around Chloe because there wasn’t really anyone else to split the cling with. Chloe snorted, spritzing perfume and walking through it. 

“It’s fine, Becs,” she said, “I like being adored, anyway.” She said it with a dramatic flare, flipping her hair off her shoulders and walking in a way that reminded Beca of the strut Dixie had when she crossed the street that first time. 

Before she left, Chloe bent down to pick Dixie up, squishing her cheek into the dog’s back and muttering, “Be good for your momma, okay?” 

The second she slammed the door, however, Dixie was scratching at the wood. Her whimper grew into a weak bark, and then an all-out yip as she paws clawed quickly at the door. “Dixie!” Beca shouted, closing her computer and racing towards where the small dog stood in front of the door, “Shhh, God, you forget that you’re illegal contraband.” 

With Beca holding her, Dixie quieted down, thought she still shoke occasionally and whimpered once or twice. Carefully, Beca moved to sit back on her bed, placing Dixie on the pillow, finally calm. 

As the night progressed, however, and no Chloe came stumbling through the door, Dixie became more and more restless. She started moving in circles, preparing a bed for herself that she never bothered to lie down in. 

_[Puppy Mama Mitch (2:41am)]: You coming back tonight?_

_[Puppy Mama Mitch (3:12am)]: Is everything alright?_

_[Puppy Mama Mitch (3:32am)]: Chlo?_

_[Chloe Beale (3:48am)]: Sorry_

_[Chloe Beale (3:49am)]: Sleeping somewhere else 2night ;)_

Beca knew, in her logical mind, that dogs were unable to read. Or, just generally, understand language. But when she got the final text, Dixie looked over her shoulder, letting out a low growl and pawing at her bedspread. 

It was Beca least favorite kind of night. So different from their movie marathons or closet clean-outs, when Chloe “blew off steam” it usually meant she was staying the night in someone else’s dorm. And almost worse than the stories Beca knew she’d have to hear tomorrow morning were the images forming in her head, brought on by the winky face. She almost thought she was the one who’d let out a growl. 

Irritated, exhausted, and not willing to admit to the reasons why she felt jealousy inching into her vision, Beca picked up Dixie. The act was down partly to calm the dog, partly to calm to human, though when hugged Dixie, she smelled Chloe’s perfume. When she put the dog down, Dixie’s light eyes looked at Chloe’s perfectly made bed and whimpered again. 

“Preach it, babe,” Beca groaned, pulling herself and the small dog up and making her way to Chloe’s bed. “Just, like, don’t tell Mom we’re sleeping in her bed, yeah?”

 

\--

 

Beca woke up less than a half hour later to the loudest yip she’d heard Dixie make and a quickly sobering up Chloe exclaming, “Oh shiiiiii–what the ff”. 

Her desk lamp turned on immediately, spraying the room in tinted blue. “Chlo?” 

She watched Chloe move her hand from where it sat clutching her chest to the straps on her heels. “What the hell are you doing in my bed, Becs? You nearly gave me a heart attack.” 

Dixie pressed her front paws into the bed, sticking her tail in the air to stretch before jumping off the bed and landing at Chloe’s feet. She quickly began to scratch at the redhead’s legs until Chloe reached down to pick her up. 

“You shouldn’t reward her for doing shit like that,” Beca mumbled, throwing Chloe’s comforter aside and sitting up. “Makes her think she can get away with things like yipping at the door every time you leave.” 

Barely paying attention, Chloe scratched the back of Dixie’s ears, “And that’s why you’re breaking your golden rule of ‘Personal Space Above All Else’ by sleeping in my bed?” 

Beca sighed, rolling her eyes. “You made that damn dog clingy. She wouldn’t sleep in my bed, and couldn’t sleep alone, so…” Grabbing her pillow from Chloe’s bed and standing up, she paused. “Wait, why are you even here? Didn’t you have, like, ‘other arrangements’?” 

Chloe shrugged. Peeling off her shirt, she sat down on her bed. “It didn’t work out.” 

“Did he have an ass tattoo?” Beca asked, “Or was his dick like a cocktail weenie?” 

After both the questions, Beca sent Chloe a look that said ‘You have  _got_ to stop picking up these dudes’. Chloe chuckled, rolling her eyes. “None of the above.” 

Beca, still standing in the middle of the room with her pillow to her chest, focused her eyes on Chloe. Normally, after a night like tonight, she’d come back with stories upon stories to tell Beca. The DJ had to practically plug her ears and sing to avoid the graphic, gory details most nights/mornings, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen the current lip-biting face that Chloe was making. 

“Okay, so…..?” she tried prompting, only watch more of Chloe scratching at Dixie’s neck. She was already nestled up against Chloe’s thigh, pressing her forehead into the skin more. Which was really unfair in every way, because Beca invested training time in both the animal and the human sitting in front of her, and neither of them seem particularly interested in her right now. “Chlo! What happened?” 

“Nothing,” Chloe said simply, picking Dixie up - all the while without putting a sleep shirt on. “Nothing happened, did it Dixie? Nope.” 

Beca threw her pillow back onto her bed, walking to Chloe’s again. “Chloe, I don’t buy that for a second.” 

“Well,” Chloe said, still aiming her words at the dog in her hands, “You should. You should, shouldn’t you? Yes you should.” 

“Chloe!” Beca was getting concerned, watching the way Chloe’s eyes darting each time the question was asked…it was familiar, only because Beca was all too accustomed to using it for herself. Not once in her life did she think Chloe Beale would be actively participating in avoidance tactics. “Put the damn dog down.”

Dixie growled at that, but Chloe sighed and put her down on her lap. She shrugged again. “I mean it, nothing happened. That’s the story.” 

“And why didn’t anything happen?” 

Chloe took a breath, looking up at the ceiling. Pressing her lips together, she shook her head. “I didn’t want it to.” 

“Right, and I’m glad you spoke up, but you’re acting really weird…” Beca put a hand on Chloe’s arm, in the pale space right below the elbow. The skin was smooth and cold, and Beca drew circles on it with her thumb. Dixie started absentmindedly licking the bedsheets. 

“Okay,” Chloe said, straightening herself up. She turned towards Beca, nudging Dixie along the way. Dixie responded simply by turning in a circle and sitting back down again. “I didn’t _want_ to. I couldn’t,” she paused, her mouth open without words coming out. “Because there were important people here that I wanted to be with instead.” 

When she finished, she threw out a weak, scared smile, but Beca only rolled her eyes. “You gave up sex for a dog,” she said, crossing her arms. “Chlo, that’s totally ridi–” 

As she was speaking, Chloe was huffing frustratedly. Her speech was cut off by Chloe’s lips against hers - tasting like warm beer and boy and drunk singing. “Mmmm,” Beca said as a means of finishing her sentence. Her hands flew up to Chloe’s neck, and she leaned into the kiss until Chloe was backed up against the headboard. They pulled away when Dixie whimpered, jolting them back to reality so much that Beca scooted back and nearly fell onto the floor. 

“Jesus, I’m sorry about that. I dunno what–”

“Becs,” Chloe said, reaching out to Beca who was struggle to find the right spot on the bed, “That’s wasn’t…I mean…” She settled Beca in the space right next to hers, both of them staring at the ceiling. “When I was out, all I could see was you two. You bickering with Dixie like you do, as if she could hear you. Her trying to sit on your computer when you don’t pay enough attention…I saw you two waiting by the door, and…I don’t know. Nothing else seemed more appealing.” 

“That’s dumb,” Beca said, though there was a grin spreading over her mouth. 

“You’re dumb,” Chloe responded. She poked Beca in the ribs, and Dixie crawled up between them. When they finally feel asleep, her puppy body was stretched over both of them equally. 

 


	24. The One With A Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((birthday human)) on the birthday theme, what about the cliché of it's beca's birthday but she hates birthdays and tries to keep it a secret, so chloe has to enlist the bellas' help to throw a surprise party — sent by gayforannak

“She’s going to hate you,” Aubrey muttered from where she was leaning against the doorway, separated ever so slightly from the circle of girls. Chloe shrugged, moving to sit down in the love-seat. 

“It’s kinda impossible for her to hate me,” she chirped simply, uncapping her pen. 

“Red’s got a point,” Amy piped up, squished between Ashley and Jessica, “Beca’s toner is so huge it’s kinda determining her opinions about things these days.” 

“Okay,” Chloe held her hand up to stop the whoops and hollers that the other Bellas erupted with.  “I was referring to the fact that I know what’s good for her better than she does, thank you very much.” 

“Yeah, I’ll  _bet_ you know what’s  _good_ for her,” CR muttered into her cup, and Stacie budged her with her elbow, chuckling. 

“ _Attention_ , ladies,” Chloe said again, “Jesus. Head out of the gutter. We’ve got work to do.” 

When the Bellas joked like this, Chloe typically hopped right in with them, throwing out eyebrow raises and suggestive comments despite the blush that never failed to rise up her neck. A large part of that was the flustered response Beca tended to have to their jokes, biting her nails as her eyes widened to cartoon sizes. 

But the one thing Chloe was better at and more serious about than flirting, it was birthdays. So when she flipped through the Bella planner to find Beca’s name hastily written on next week’s calendar, she nearly went into cardiac arrest. Because of  _course_ Beca, that tiny ball of angst and privacy and permanent irritation, would keep that a secret. Fighting every urge to pick Beca up by her waist and call her every variation of “you little stinker” she could imagine, she instead vowed that this birthday was going to be different for Beca. She be damned it anything got in the way of convincing Beca that birthdays were worthy of recognition - and maybe even celebration. 

Which meant, of course, that that custom of boxed cake from the market and the Bellas special jiggle juice wouldn’t quite do the trick this time. It wouldn’t be just a birthday party, it’d be a birthday party Beca  _remembered -_ a challenge which had a size Chloe wasn’t fully aware of until she began. 

Their strategy session lasted an hour, complete with a suggestion box that was filled mostly with inappropriate poems and drawings of a dangerously inventive weapons (Lilly) as well as an acutely detailed spreadsheet of activities courtesy of Ms. Aubrey Posen. When they finished, Chloe had a near perfect idea of how the night was going to look, and she smiled contentedly to herself before answering the eight text messages Beca had sent from the library in the time she was away from her phone. 

It would start at zero dark thirty. 

–

_[Chloe (11:56pm)]: Cant sleep_

_[Beca (11:56pm)]: Maybe thats cuz it’s not even midnight yet and you’re over the age of nine_

_[Chloe (11:57pm)]: Shut up_

_[Chloe (11:57pm)]: Can I stop over?_

 

Chloe stood in front of Beca’s door, almost ready to knock before sending the last text. She waited for the three dots that indicated Beca was typing, and when she saw the thumbs up emoji, she knocked. It was to the rhythm of happy birthday, but, admittedly, that song lacked a solid beat. Still, Beca opened the door immediately, her eyes wide. 

“Chloe, what the fuck, this is a communal dorm and no one needs you practicing your drum skills on my door,” she hissed, pulling the redhead into the room with a huff. Chloe’s smile never faltered, though she knew to keep her enthusiasm down to the bare minimum. Giving Beca anything at all - from food, to new ideas, to sympathy, to this - required acting not unlike how one would act if thrown into a cage with lions: move slowly, stay calm, and don’t show any signs of emotions. They can smell fear, and Beca can smell excitement. 

“Okay, number one, are you Flash?” Beca said, finally letting her grin scoot up her face, “And number two, why are you looking at me like I’m a ticket to a Taylor Swift concert.” 

Chloe hummed, looking up with her hands on her hips. “Becausssse,” she said, checking the time on her phone, “Because it is  _yourrr birthdayyyyy.”_

 _“_ Oh my god,” Beca groaned, her face falling. She pressed her hands to her forehead as she fell onto her bed. “No. Nope. You’ve gotten the dates wrong.” 

“Nuh-uh,” Chloe said, taking Beca’s wrists in her hands, “Because guess who I had teach me Comparative World Lit second semester of my sophomore year? The same man who was just _thrilled_ that his daughter had enough friends to want to plan birthday celebrations for her. So I’ve got official confirmation, from the witness of the birth himself.” 

“The witness of  _half_ the birth,” Beca conceded, biting her lip, “He was late because I was early.” 

Chloe squealed, holding Beca’s wrists tighter. “Okay, no, I can  _not_ handle baby Beca stories right now. We’ve got an itinerary to keep to.” 

Beca’s face grew more pale than it already was (a scary achievement in and of itself), and her mouth dropped into a worried grimace. “What the fuck kind of itinerary?” 

– 

With her hand pressed against Beca’s eyes, the smaller girl was even more clumsy than usual. Chloe stood directly behind her, pressing the back of her head into her chest to keep control. She smelled like Beca - like coconut and leather and lilac shampoo - and she was warm, fidgeting. 

“Okay, step up,” Chloe said, her hand goading on Beca’s hip. “Another. And then one more.” 

When she opened the door, the bell rang, but the room was silent enough to not hint anything. Still, even Chloe could recognize the dusty smell of the station - it was practically part of Beca’s perfume at this point. 

“Okay,” she said in an excited whisper, peeling her hand off of Beca’s eyes and feeling the girl flinch before gasping. 

Amy and Stacie worked to line every inch of the station in christmas lights, from the loft up top to the radio room. They varied from white to rainbow but most of them were a dark purple, which glinted if you moved around. Lilly provided the couch - though no one knew from where it could’ve possibly come and no one wanted to ask. CR rigged a sheet to hang on the wall, collecting her organic chem professor’s projector as it played a series of birthday movie clips on silent. 

“Happy birthday, Becs,” Chloe said, her smile so wide Beca thought it might break her face. 

“What the…” Beca looked around, running her hand over the couch. Then, she punched Chloe in the shoulder. “Fuck you for this. Seriously.” 

It was as close to a thank you as Chloe would ever want, and she smiled, squinching her face to wriggle it in front of Beca. 

“Hmm,” she said, sticking out her tongue, “You love me.” 

Beca was silent, staring at the projector for a few moments, and that, too, was enough of an answer. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Chloe wondered when she started speaking Beca’s language of pauses and grunts, and why she never felt like she had to take the time to learn it before she just  _knew._ She reached out, grabbing a hold of Beca’s hand. 

“The Bellas all had a part, just for the record,” she said, leaning her head on Beca’s shoulder, “But you can thank them when they force me to take you to a surprise party tomorrow - well, technically tonight, but, like,  _tomorrow_  night.” 

Beca groaned, putting her head on Chloe’s. She hadn’t said a word since Chloe’s “You love me” and somehow that silence felt right. “I couldn’t stop them with that,” the redhead said honestly, “But whatever. That’s why they gave us this.” She gestured at the room, filled floor to ceiling in shelves of records - hot and cold at the same time, and inherently cramped in a comfortable way. Perfectly Beca. “To make up for the amount of Jiggle Juice they’re gonna make you consume. Oh! Also…I wasn’t supposed to tell you any of that.” 

Beca laughed, turning Chloe’s hand around in her own so that she could play a beat on the girl’s palm. “Thank you, Chlo. Um. Birthdays ar–”

“Aren’t your thing, I know. But this is a technicality. See, because you haven’t even slept yet, so it doesn’t even count as your official birthday. Which means it’s just you and me, sneaking into the Barden radio station, eating some cake and listening to kick-ass music.” 

“Ah, see, I am looking around and find two faults in your claim. One: no cake. Two: no music.” 

“Aha! You’ve fallen right into my trap,” Chloe muttered, maintaining a terrible accent. She pulled away from Beca, rushing to a hidden space behind the record shelves. When she appeared again, she had two plates of CR’s classic cheesecake - a Bella favorite, much to Aubrey’s “beach bod” chagrin. She handed one to Beca with a sheepish, “Sorry, no forks” and then disappeared again into the studio. 

“Hey, no one’s allo–” Beca started, but before she could finish her warning, Chloe was out again, and beats were pumping through the overhead speakers. Within seconds, she recognized the sound. “What the hell? That’s the radio. That’s…Chlo, we’re gonna get in so much hot water for this.” 

She wished, just for a fraction of a second, that Chloe’s grin would falter. Because it was reaching outlandish levels of happy at this point. “Guess who may or may not have spent a little quality time with Luke her freshman year?” 

“Chloooo,” Beca said, acting scandalized and nudged the redhead. The other woman giggled, winking suggestively. 

“Freshman Chloe has gotten senior Chloe a  _hell_ of a lot of sweet digs, Becs.”

“I’ll bet,” Beca said, digging into the cheesecake with her nail. “I just…That’s my mix.  _My_ mix.” 

“We’ve got a whole birthday hour,” Chloe answered, and Beca wondered briefly if she was referring to the radio station, the room, or the time they had together. 

It was perfect, beyond perfect, and Chloe knew it from the moment her hands left Beca’s eyes. Subtle and quiet but just enough to show the girl that people were there, behind the scenes, on the sidelines , or sitting underneath her legs, to celebrate with her. And all they required was that she be there with them. Behind the scenes, on the sidelines, or sitting with her side pressed into their front. 

Chloe pressed a kiss to Beca’s temple, moving her lips down to her ear. “I’m kinda glad you were born, Beca Mitchell.” 

Beca smiled, and she thought that maybe - just maybe - it matched the mega-watt smile of the girl pressing circles into her back. She fit her head under Chloe’s chin, tracing the outline of her hand. 

“Yeah, well,” she shrugged, still smiling, “I’m kinda glad you 


	25. The One Where the Bellas Try To Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> omg I love your mini-fics they're amazing I'm so obsessed with them!Could you do one where Chloe and beca are flirting and messing about on bella practise or something but they're both oblivious and all the other bellas know and try and fix them up together?! :):):) — sent by anonymous

“It’s getting unbearable,” Cynthia Rose muttered. The rest of the room hummed in approval. 

“Seriously,” Amy sighed, stretching her legs under the pillow she held on her lap. “I didn’t move here under the impression I’d be living on the Isle of Lesbos. Their eye-fucks are gonna get me pregnant, I swear to the aca-gods.”

Stacie nodded emphatically. “And I  _really_  can’t afford to have another pregnancy scare.” 

CR clapped her hands together, pressing up on her knee to sit up straight. “Okay, then, what’re we going to do about it, aca-bitches?” 

–

The other Bellas could handle the flirting when it was in the early stages. Simple touches here and there were hidden under the guise of Beca needing help with choreography (which was, admittedly, a stretch, because to everyone’s surprise, Beca was actually overwhelmingly impressive when it came to the dance moves). Starting with guiding Beca’s arm motions, Chloe’s hands went to her hips, guiding them side to side against hers. They lingered there for moments after the song ended. The Bellas were split between needing to wipe up their drool, question their sexuality, and close their eyes. 

They started participating in ‘solo choreography tutorials’ which, according to the $15 that Stacie bet, was just code for ‘BFFing’ (Best Friend Fucking). The other girls disagreed, though, because the tension only reached higher. Beca mixed a version of ‘Talk Dirty to Me’ that Chloe demanded be a partner song - at least for that rehearsal - and the small girl had to run to the bathroom halfway through the set to control her flush. 

The sexual tension was painful enough, of course, but what went most of the Bellas searching each other out for support was the terrible flirting that came with it. Chloe, always a flirting mastermind, never stopped to veil her suggestive comments - which was really fortunate for her because there was  _an aca-awful lot_ of suggestive things that could be said about acapella. And, just generally, doing it with their mouths. 

Beca, though, jumped the gambit from shockingly impressive to heart-wrenchingly terrible, depending on what kind of mood Chloe was in. When Chloe was tired, after finals or between competitions, Beca could spout of her own bits of choreography, shifting her hips in a way that suggested those ‘solo choreography tutorials’ really were paying off. She could raise her eyebrows when Chloe commented on the skimpiness of the next competition outfits, muttering a “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, sailor” that sent Chloe’s breath completely out of whack. When Chloe was on her game, leaning in closely to Beca as they stood in the front of the group to direct the new songs, Beca would try to concoct comebacks that were so pitiful that most of the Bellas had to shift uncomfortably and look away. ( To Chloe’s proclamation of Beca’s “great body…of vocal work”, Beca responded with “Yeah, well…you…are…very nice smelling”). 

Regardless, after their last rehearsal, where the presence of Chloe’s hand on the upper half of Beca’s thigh sent her into an incoherent mess, and the hour-long practice was shorten to fifteen minutes between their “casual” ass-slapping and giggle-winks, the Bellas decided they needed to something. 

–

“Chlo? Stace texted me saying we had an emergency rehearsa—oh,” Beca walked fully into the auditorium, finding three blankets, a box of cheez-its, and a waterbottle of what looked like vodka and grape juice. Two flashlights were pointing up at the ceiling, in the place, Beca thought, of candles. 

“Becs?” Beca turned around at the sound of Chloe’s voice, finding her in the doorway to the auditorium seeming just as confused as Beca was. “What’s…” 

Beca held out her hands, pressing her lips together and shrugging. Chloe walked forward, a smile spreading over her face. She picked up the waterbottle, sniffing. “Romantic,” she said, ticking the end with the “c”. 

Beca nodded, pushing her hands into her pockets. “So whadd’you think it’s…”

“Oh, it has the Bellas written all over it,” Chloe answered without waiting for Beca to finish her sentence. Beca nodded, moving to sit down on the blankets. 

“So what, they lock us in here until we run out of rations and are forced to get out Hunger Games style?” Beca said as she watched Chloe walked around the room, dragging her feet. Chloe smiled, stopping in a way that Beca knew a joke was coming. “There’s a joke there somewhere about eating to survive,” she said, and Beca shook her head, looking down. 

“You’re disgusting,” she responded simply, playing with the rings on her fingers. 

“You’re into it,” Chloe hummed, bouncing it off. She made her way over to the whiteboard and examined it. Then, she laughed. “Okay, so, admittedly, I wasn’t far off.” 

“What?” Beca said, a cheez-it halfway to her mouth. She stood up, moving quickly to be by Chloe’s side. 

Squinting inside the quickly darkening room, Beca leaned in to read the hand-writing on the board. (The hearts that dotted the i indicated that this was Stacie’s doing). 

_Dear God, Make it happen already. But, like, be quiet about it. If you can. Love, the Bellas_

Then, in bubbly hand-writing that was Amy’s,  _P.S. You owe me for the drinks. Welch’s ain’t cheap._


	26. The One With the Carnival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> could you write something where beca and chloe and maybe even all the other bellas go to the carnival or a theme park and add lots of fluff and stuff and maybe even a first kiss occurs (largely based on the fact that i just now saw beyonce's XO video and all i could think about was bechloe the entire time) — sent by anonymous

“Oh my god,” Chloe squealed, squeezing Beca’s hand as she pulled it to her chest, “You’re scared, aren’t you? Not a rollercoaster gal?” 

The other Bellas ran up ahead once they passed through the entrance, with Stacie skipping to push their chain of connected arms and hands onwards. Beca, though, moved even slower than usual, crossing her arms and huffing under her breath about how she didn’t have enough coffee to deal with this this morning. 

“What?” Beca scoffed, pulling a face that meant to deny the claim but seemed to confirm it. “You’re…insane. I just don’t feel like surrounding myself with sticky kids and creepy carnies for an entire day.” 

Chloe pouted, pressing her chin on Beca’s shoulder, “Oh, sure, Miss Grumpy Grump. Live a little, will ya?” 

Beca rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on her face. “Miss Grumpy Grump?”

“Huhhhh,” Chloe hummed, looking up and shaking her head, “It’s just a work in progress.”

Beca shook her head, glaring at the man in the white shorts and suspenders shouting at them to play a game. It gave Chloe enough time to jump in front of her, pulling her by the hands. “Come onnnnnn, Becs,” she said excitedly. They were turning into the entrance for the biggest rollercoaster ride. Taking Beca’s hand and lifting it up, Chloe twirled underneath it, catching Beca in her arms. “As long as I’m around, there’s nothin’ to be scared of anyway.” 

It was before noon and already unbearably hot, but the warmth of Chloe’s arms was more welcome than not. Inside them, Beca could breathe. The scowl pressed onto her face from the unrelenting sun and the terrible music played over the loudspeakers smoothed out. She took a deep breath, captured in the scent of clean citrus and vanilla instead of fried dough and sunscreen, but when she bit her lip and swallowed, she felt how high her heartrate spiked.  

“I’m not scared,” she mumbled, breaking out of Chloe’s grasp and kicking a few pebbles with her feet. It was lie, which Chloe could see well enough, but it stretched up and past the rollercoaster that casted shadows on their faces. Because she was terrified. 

–

Over the course of her time at Barden, Beca tried to stop reminding herself how much her scale changed. Night after night, it would ruminate - how small she’d let herself become in her quest to become big. How she spent her fall breaks driving in a car full of girls to the shore so they could get funnel cakes, or how her biggest worry was a setlist for Nationals and whether they should get sequined collars and if the double ball-change was a necessary dance move. 

She was supposed to be somewhere else, to be someone else. She was supposed to be freed from this trap. 

Perhaps the most terrifying part of it all was the fact that she felt  _free_  inside this trap. She was scared because she wasn’t scared at all. 

And it was all because of the hand she held, the voice that twirled around her ears. She stopped reminding herself how much her scale changed a long time ago. But occasionally, she’d look at Chloe, and she’d remember. She’d remember that Chloe took her scale - of success, of life, of loneliness and love and herself - and swirled it around with the tip of her perfectly manicured fingernail. She took her scale and made it entirely her. 

So that the thing she measured her existence by was the presence of a redhead’s smile against her shoulder. 

They sat in the cart, the rollercoaster clicking up the hill, and Beca felt her entire body tighten. 

“Hey,” Chloe said, reaching her hand out under the seatbelts and safety bars so that it was holding onto Beca’s. “Hey, breathe. Breathe and let yourself fall.” 

And she did. She let her breath sink into her stomach. She let the air press tears into her eyes. She let the sound of the world moving impossibly fast close in on her. And she fell. Hard. 

–

Chloe’s lips were sparkling. Beca watched them when she spoke, telling a story about how her dad brought her here every fourth of July to watch the fireworks. She was looking out the window of the ferris wheel, her fingers wrapped around the metal bars, and Beca watched her lips. She was grateful for the bites of cotton candy the other woman stole from her, and the way the sugar lined her already pink mouth. 

She felt herself laughing, even though she missed the punchline. The one sound that she loved more than Chloe’s laugh was the harmony they seemed to make when she joined in too. 

“Will this whole thingy freak out if I come over there to sit next to you?” Chloe asked, looking around the ferris wheel. Beca shrugged, feeling drunk. Drunk off the sunshine, the exhaustion, the powdered sugar slipped into the cracks of her lips, and Chloe. Chloe who was golden now, under the protruding lightbulbs of the ride. Spending a day with her pressed against Beca’s side, her hand tight when they twisted through the spinning ride, her shout loud when they dropped on the jumper ride, it painted Beca in a haze. Near Chloe’s feet was the small stuffed frog Beca won for her with rolled eyes and hesitant groans as she rolled the skeeball up the track. Near Beca’s feet was the caricature she refused to pay for, when Beca giggled at Chloe’s cross-eyed face and the artist asked how long they’d been a couple. 

“Why, Ms. Beale, you never really worry about rocking the boat, now, do you?” 

Chloe grinned, racing over to Beca’s side of the cart with an exciting squeal as the whole thing tipped and rocked under the change of weight. She threw herself at Beca’s, ducking from the invisible weight of gravity, and Beca caught her willingly, her giggle heavy and light at the same time. 

“Are you scared?” Chloe asked, when she situated herself so that Beca’s arms were still around her, their cart slightly uneven and rocking haphazardly. Beca bit her lip, seeing the freckles that popped out on Chloe’s nose as a result of the sunshine. She shook her head slightly, not being capable of words or of tearing her eyes away from the sprinkled dust of cotton candy sugar on Chloe’s mouth. 

Yes, terrified. 

No, ready. 

Both at the same time, Beca thought. Terrified and ready, and incapable of registering anything else above the light graze of Chloe’s thumb on her elbow. It crept up, and she felt every instance of progress, feeling it move from her upper arm to her shoulder, and then to the space right above her ear, where it pushed back all the flyaways that the coasters had coaxed out. 

“Fall, Becs,” Chloe said, her lips nearly on Beca’s, her breath warm. Beca wondered how she was supposed to breathe normally now that she knew how it felt to breathe Chloe’s air. “There’s nothin’ to be scared of anyway.” 

And then, Beca learned a new scale. 

Not the scale of Beca Mitchell, which she’d lived in before Barden. 

Or the scale of Chloe Beale, which suffocated her in the best way until now. 

But, rather, the scale of them together - how Beca measured her existence was on the press of their bodies and the taste of sweetness on Chloe’s lips. The hint of cotton candy and french fries that was still left there. The rock of the cart beneath them as they moved, adjusting to the imbalance. 

Like all the other scales Chloe taught her, this new one was terrifying in all it’s liberation. But it tasted sweet and salty and right, and that was


	27. The One With A Breakup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you like do some angsty bechloe please???????? Like maybe "I broke up with you for your own good" from Chloe? (I love your mini fics they are amazing and yeah you're great thanks) — sent by anonymous

Two and a half days. 

The longest they went without talking was two and a half days. 

It’s like a game Beca plays with herself, to see how long she could step back before she can’t resist the pull to send a text. Sometimes, she stays radio silent just to see how long Chloe can last, to see what random part of the day Chloe chooses to share with Beca because she has nothing else to say but simply wanted to reach out. 

Because even when they pull away, the force they have on each other grew stronger. The radius does not decrease the attraction. The relationship was proportional, and Beca finds herself wondering if Chloe knew this basic fact of the universe when she sat on Beca’s bed and pulled away for the last time. 

“ _You are…,” Chloe stopped, letting out a small chuckle of disbelief, “You are so special, Beca. And I don’t think anyone’s told you that.” Her face was aimed at the ground, and she picked at the lose thread in Beca’s bed sheet. She was having trouble breathing properly, her heart dropping to her stomach and making the room spin._

_In Chloe’s voice was a resigned sadness she didn’t want to address. Chloe, who was the sun, who was the bright light inside the dark twists and turns of Beca’s mind, who was the easy smile and the nights spent on the hood in the parking lot listening to music. Chloe, who smelled like oranges, who tasted like chocolate chip cookies, who - Beca swore - sparkled instead of sweating. She was gray. She was broken, dry, cracked, and Beca felt as though she’d been poked with needles all over her body. Because there was only one person who could break Chloe like that, and it was the same Chloe would could make her happier than she ever thought possible._

_“Chlo,” Beca tried, holding her hand to Chloe’s cheek and wiping off the tears she found there. “Cho, no, Chlo. Come here.”  
_

_She pressed the girl to her chest, rocking her slightly back and forth. Chloe crumbled in her arms, breaking out into sharp sobs, and Beca didn’t ask any more questions, didn’t push any further. She sat in silence, her heart pressing hard against her chest, feeling her muscles ache under Chloe’s weight._

_“Beca,” she said finally when she caught her breath, half of the name being lost to the crack in voice. She pressed fists against Beca’s chest, pushing away. Mascara had run from her face, creating rivers of shadows from her eyes to her lips. The room had grown dark without their permission. “I can’t.”  
_

_“What?” Beca still held tightly onto Chloe, despite her forceful push away, and her hands instinctively clutched more.  
_

_“I can’t….do this,” she squeaked, and Beca was sure she was pressing bruises into Chloe’s shoulders. “I just…You’re…too much. Too big…I can’t stop you. Or keep you here. You need to…be more than what I can let you be.”  
_

_They sat there, crouched there, hunched over and crying, and Chloe tried, pulling her hands out to tug on Beca’s iron-clad grasp, to get out. “Please, Bec, please.” She had to scratch, digging her nails in, before Beca came to and released her grip. Then, she ran. Out of the room. Out of her life._

It had been a week, now. Beca checks, every morning, every night, becoming irritated by every number that wasn’t Chloe’s until she finally leaves her phone on silent under her bed. Her bedspread becomes a second skin, her mind surrenders to constant replays of old television shows whenever she can manage to slip in and out of sleep. Because if she sleeps, she can stay away from Chloe’s face pressed into the back of her eyelids. The face where she is so broken, and so dark, and so ruined, all because of Beca. 

She thinks that Chloe, in hindsight, is right. Because if Chloe left Beca for her own good, then Beca had to leave Chloe for  _her_ own good. She will never be responsible for breaking a sun ray. Not again, at least. She is angst, she ruins most everything that she touches, and so, lesson learned. She’d stay away. 

Only, it seems that she learns her lesson too well, because instead of staying away from Chloe, she chooses to stay away from the world. Which, in her defense, is made entirely up of Chloe. So she retreats from it all, because at least then, she’d be detained. 

Until she hears violent knocking on her door one morning, after thirteen days without talking to Chloe (that was how she learns how to measure time). She isn’t certain that it is morning, but she is sleeping, and even though it is dark in her room, light fights to stream under her blinds, so “morning” is close enough. She grumbles, turning around in her bed and allowing the knocking to continue incessantly. The sound turns it’s attention to the door knob, until finally she hears a crash and can’t avoid the waking hours any longer. 

When she sits up, she sees that Chloe stumbles through the doorway, the hinges broken slightly. She looks good - better than Beca at the very least, who, now that the door is open, realizes she was living in a vat of unfiltered Beca and Fritos odor. Chloe is wearing sweatpants, admittedly, which she only did after a good run. She is makeup-less, but it is fresh and clean, and Beca always liked her without that stuff. 

“Fucking shit, Beca, goddammit,” Chloe says when she sees  Beca in bed, pressing her hand to her chest. “God, fucking shit-hole damn.” 

The curse words are falling from Chloe’s mouth with more ease than Beca ever knew possible, but with each of them, Beca’s heartrate spikes higher and higher, until she is worked into just as much of a panic as the redhead is. 

It is startling, really, how suddenly she becomes aware of every sensation she blocked out. The smell, the hunger in her gut from who knows how many days spent living off of protein bars and gatorade, the stickiness at the edge of her mouth…The gray is filling in with sickly colors, and she remembers once more what her heartbeat feels like. 

“Why the ever-loving-fuck didn’t you answer the phone?!?!” 

Beca is stunned, and she thinks she’s forgotten how to speak, because it’s been so long and because Chloe is back in her room like Beca never thought she would be. 

“Um,” she tries, her jaw sore. She feels like the tin-man. “Did you call or something? I’m sorry, I have some of your stuff here and–”

“The Bellas fucking convinced me that you were dead, goddammit,” Chloe screams, moving forward to push Beca - who had only just sat up. “I thought you were dead. God! I just…” 

After the push, she presses her lips violently to Beca’s forcing her instead to stand up for the first time in a few days, her legs already like noodles. Beca, surprised and embarrassed by what is probably very bad breath squeaks into the kiss, which only spurs Chloe on more. They break into the rhythm again easily, and Beca feels like every single lost thing has come back slowly, filling her up like a dead battery being recharged. She breaks away, needing to see the same kind of fulfillment in Chloe’s eyes. 

For your own good, she keeps thinking, she keeps wondering, the question ruminating in her mind. She needs to know that this is for her own good too. 

And she gets her answer when Chloe reaches back to kiss her again, biting her bottom lip before pulling away. “Don’t you ever fucking dare do that again,” she whispers sharply in a breath, and Beca’s right. She’s been right, and she’s going to show Chloe this now. It’s a proportional relationship. When the distance grows, the need does too. She smiles, thinking that the equation overtakes whatever conversation she knows they need to have. There’s some distance to close anyway. 


	28. The One With Jaubrey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: your post of Skylar and Anna BTS in PP2 just gave me the idea of Jesse and Aubrey becoming matchmakers for Beca and Chloe in PP2 (to the shock of the others as Jesse was the ex and Aubrey didn't really like Beca for Chloe), Jesse trying to get them together during the party and at school and when that did not work, Aubrey also start matchmaking them when they were at camp. During their final song they watch from backstage as they see their matchmaking was successful. — sent by anonymous

It was a strange thing, that much he could admit. But, he was a strange kid, and nothing but a sucker for a good rom-com. He’d played the part of leading man. He played the part of scorned lover. They were long and sordid movies in his life, but he’d long since popped out those DVDs, placing them carefully in their respective cases and throwing them on the shelves. Now, he thought he’d try his part as a director. 

“You still haven’t told Chloe about the internship?” he said, his words a little loud, a little slurred, but masterfully without a hint of scorn behind them. Yes, director was going to be a role that fit him quite nicely, he decided. 

Beca shrugged, running her hands through her hair. He nudged her cup towards her. “I just…She’s got a lot going on, with Worlds and all that…I just, I don’t want to worry her, yunno?” 

When Beca didn’t drink from her cup, Jesse took it and gulped down what warm beer was left. “I think you should give her a chance. She can handle more than you’d expect, dearest Becawwwww.” 

He crushed her cup, letting it drop to the ground with a smile. Beca rolled her eyes, moving to pick it back up, “Recycling isn’t, like, a lost fucking art”. When she stood back up, though, Jesse wasn’t standing in front of her. She barely caught the sight of his sweatshirt string blowing in the wind as he ran into the crowd across the pool. 

Standing in front of her, though, was a Miss Chloe Beale, holding tightly onto an all too familiar yellow cup. “Becaaaaa,” she shouted, holding her arm out to pull Beca to her tightly, so that their cheeks were comedically squished together. Chloe already reeked of Jiggle Juice, her face flushed with a chill of sweat. Beca didn’t pull away, though she was admittedly less sober than she wanted to be, leaning into Chloe and bouncing along with her to the music. 

The best part about drunk Chloe was that she made Beca drunk just with a touch, and the smaller girl didn’t need to cope with the consequences the next morning. She’d made it through most of last semester without drinking at all, just letting Chloe down enough liquid to make Beca buzz and forget where she was. 

Jesse watched them, standing by Benji’s side majority of the night as his best friend tried to work through the various reasons and rationales for that freshman to have turned him down without completely rejecting him. He watched how Beca danced, constantly pressed up to Chloe in some way. He watched how they sang, their lips pursed and their eyes open wide, like they were 13 years old together alone in their room. They seemed to move in slow motion. 

If there was one thing audiences loved to hate and hated to love, it was a slow burn. But Jesse figured 4 years was enough of a build-up. 

The day after the party, he pulled out the number he never thought he’d use. She typed it in at the last party of her senior year, after the Bellas had won Nationals. Drunk and loosened up, Aubrey had more than a few buttons popped on her shirt, and her voice became louder - more shrill but somehow more bearable. Aside from the moments when she was whispering, her words slurred, as she slid a finger up Jesse’s neck. “I’vvvv a tattoo,” she whispered, giggling. Jesse, clearly uncomfortable, started tapping his foot. 

“Cool,” he said, raising his eyebrows and shrugging. Aubrey leaning closer, her finger moving to his chest. 

“Immm just tellin’ g’you b’cuz you like Beca,” she said, “n’ so maybe you’re n’to that.” 

He was pretty certain she forgot plugging her number into his phone at all. Nonetheless, he decided to reach out. 

_[Jesse Swanson (12:43pm)]: Hey, this is Jesse. Swanson. From Barden? Yeah. So this sounds really weird, but…I need your help._

_–_

_“_ So, what’ve you been up to, missy?” Aubrey nudged Chloe as they tried to set up the fire. They saw each other on breaks, whether Chloe took the time to visit her in New York before she got her job at the lodge or Aubrey joined the Beale family at her beach house in Florida. And while they skyped nearly every week, it normally ended with frustrated huffs on Aubrey’s end regarding the paralyzed state that Chloe seemed to let herself sneak into. 

Chloe bit her lip, throwing some newspaper into the fire pit. “Nothin’,” she said simply, letting it hold a brighter tone. 

“I’ve known you for more than six years. If you think, for one second, that I can’t tell when you’re lying…” 

Chloe let out a breath, sitting on the bench when the fire finally picked up. “That’s the thing, Bree,” she said, her voice cracking slightly, “It’s not a lie. I’m doing  _nothing._  I’ve done  _nothing.”_

Aubrey sat down next to Chloe, patting her back. The redhead rested her head on her shoulder. “You can change that. Any time you want.” 

Chloe sighed, wiping at her eyes. “No, I know. I know,” she nodded, taking another shaky breath and sitting up. “Now what about you? Because I know  _we_ have a no cell phone rule, but don’t think I haven’t seen you smirking at your screen.” 

Aubrey had been surprised to received any communication from Jesse - let alone communication three years after she graduated. He, of course, adhered to her follow-up text, which sent strict instructions to schedule a Skype meeting time where they could discuss his proposition. 

He was nice, warm, comforting. He had laughing eyes where hers were sharp, and when he talked to her, she felt like whatever fire was constantly burning her ass was dulled momentarily - she felt like she could just  _sit._ Yes, she loved talking to Chloe, and chatting with most of the Bellas, but they all went to Aubrey when they wanted someone to put their shit together. Jesse wasn’t perfect, but he was hopeful enough to be untroubled and determined enough to be strategic. Splitting strategy with him started to be the best part of her week. 

Until her part of the plan had come into play. He was constantly telling her how impossible it seemed. How the two  _just. wouldn’t. get. it._ But she didn’t fully understand this until she saw it for herself. She saw the way Chloe couldn’t tear her eyes from Beca when she sang, and she herself felt like she was swept out of the woods so that their voices would ensure they were alone. 

So when she found out the next morning that Chloe tried, she  _tried,_ to no avail, she thought she might have to choke it down for the first time in years. 

“Asking for some experimental fun isn’t trying, Chlo,” she said between her teeth as the rest of the Bellas were getting on the bus. Chloe shrugged sadly, trying to smile. 

“It was the best I could do,” she said weakly, pecking a kiss on Aubrey’s cheek, “See you at Worlds.” 

–

“Wait for it….waiiiiitt for ittttt,” Jesse was leaning forwards as he talked, his eyes excitedly aimed at the two girls standing in the corner backstage. Aubrey looked over at him, smiling recklessly. She nudged him with the elbow that was outside of her crossed-arm position. 

“I  _have_ been waiting for it, for Pete’s sake,” she gritted between her teeth as Beca took another step towards Chloe, fiddling with the button on the redhead’s vest. “I swear to God, if it doesn’t happen in the next ten seconds I will personally hold their dumb little heads together like Barbie dolls until they realize what the  _hell_ they’re supposed to be doing or suffocate from lack of oxygen.” 

“Whoa, aca-babe,” Jesse said. He broke his gaze from the two girls for a second to give an impressed look to Aubrey. “Harsh. You get whatchu want.” 

Aubrey held up one finger, not once looking away from Beca and Chloe, who were now smiling at each other. The hand playing with Chloe’s button moved up to a red curl, and Chloe leaned into it. The hum that radiated from her was almost audible where Jesse and Aubrey stood. “We don’t do this,” she stopped, her stick-straight index finger waving between them, “Until they do that.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Jesse said, just as Beca moved onto her tiptoes. The hand in Chloe’s curls came around to her neck, pressing Chloe down to reach her lips. 

“ _Scorrrree,”_ Jesse whispered, holding his hands up in silent celebration. 

Even Aubrey broke out a smile, pressing a single clap up to her mouth. “Thank the dear Lord.” 

“And all the aca-Gods,” Jesse answered, nodding. Finally looking away from the couple, he face Aubrey, holding his hand out. “Well, Ms. Posen, it was a pleasure doing business with you.” 

Jesse hadn’t realized that while he was directing someone else’s movie, he was acting in his own. He hadn’t realized that his time as leading man wasn’t up, exactly, just the story was altered. Different. And the leading lady was…

…Yeah. 

“Jesse Swanson, you can kiss me now, you know.” 


	29. The One With Timon and Pumba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, great job with the minifics, I love reading those *-* Also can you please do one situated at the campfire ending with an actual BeChloe moment that's interupted by the other Bellas in some dorky manner? Thanks and keep up the awesome work <3 — sent by anonymous

“Hey, Beale, hang back for a mo’?” 

The girls were filing into the tent, but Beca remained sitting in her low-to-the-ground lawn chair, her eyes focused on Chloe. The redhead spent the better portion of the evening staring into the fire pit, her gaze lost to the flames. She was entirely still, which is what worried Beca the most. Chloe Beale, in all the years that Beca spent with her, was never still, never quiet. She would only let her face loosen out of a smile when she was in private. 

When Beca asked her to stay back, she looked confused, nodding quickly and choosing to sit on the armrest of Beca’s chair. Beca leaned her head into Chloe’s hip. 

“Did you really know that I’m scared?” Chloe asked. Beca loved that she never had to poke or nudge or pry. Sitting here, in the silence, it just took one touch and the conversation began. 

“I mean, you’re a super senior,” Beca said, “And I’ve seen you study. You’re not dumb.” 

“Yeah, but that was for the Bellas, I mean I–” she stopped herself, biting the inside of her cheek and looking away. Beca reached to grab her hands, pulling them towards her. When Chloe looked up to try to stop herself from crying, Beca tapped the redhead’s legs, lifting them one by one to rest on her lap. Chloe scooted to sit completely on Beca, her hands wrapped around Beca’s shoulders. 

They both knew, in some universe where the anonymity of the woods in nighttime didn’t exist, that they looked ridiculous. The tall one cuddled up in the small one’s arms, just a tangled knot of limbs and discomfort. But Beca was strong - she always had been - and capable of holding the loose joints of Chloe together with ease. When Chloe’s head was on her chest, she felt like the only thing keeping her breathing was Beca’s heartbeat. 

“I don’t wanna go,” Chloe said, pressing into Beca and holding onto the collar of her shirt. “Becs. You and me, we’re good, you know? We’re really good.”

Beca nodded against Chloe’s forehead, her lips ghosting over the other girl’s temples. “I know,” she said quietly. “I know.” 

The hand on Beca’s collar moved up to run a shaky finger over Beca’s neck, and Beca involuntarily shivered. She held onto Chloe tighter, though the hand that was under Chloe’s knees snaked around and began drawing lines up her calves. When Chloe craned her head, she was still crying, her eyes bright blue against the pink of tears. She put her hand on Beca’s cheek, running her thumb over the girl’s lips - lips which immediately parted at the contact. 

And they both heard, in some universe where the feeling of Beca’s breath on Chloe’s face or Chloe’s chest on Beca’s arm didn’t render them deaf to the world around them, the sounds of rustling coming from just outside the tent. In fact, even the first few lines of the other Bellas makeshift play went unheard. But they couldn’t deny that the tune of “Can You Feel The Love Tonight” was ringing out around them, mixing embarrassingly well with the crickets and cicadas outside. 

Upon Amy’s solo - originally sang by Pumba - about aromas and clearing out rooms after meals, Chloe threw her head back, groaning. Her hair had brushed over Beca’s arm, and her throat, now exposed, was pure white. Beca swallowed, glancing away and letting an annoyed huff out before joining Chloe in laughing. She decided to snake her arms back around, reaching to tickle the redhead until they both tumbled out of the chair right at the crescendo of the song. Chloe, now acting as if there was more in the smores than just chocolate and marshmallows, joined the other Bellas in the final bit of the song, leaving Beca to put the fire out, all the while mumbling, “And this is exactly why I didn’t wanna join a fucking acapella group.” 

 


	30. The One Where Beca Can't Catch a Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bechloe prompt. Beca has been trying to ask Chloe out on a date for the past month but keeps getting interrupted by the Bella's. — sent by anonymous

1\. They sat on the quad, Chloe stretched out on a beach towel, all shorts and skin and gold. She was a reflection of the sun, and on the curves of her body, Beca swore she saw sparkles. Where Chloe was splayed on the ground, Beca held herself tightly, resting her head on her knees so that no skin was susceptible to sunburns. 

She spent the better half of that afternoon listening to Chloe’s ramble about a girl in her Urban Studies class, enjoying the bitterness in an otherwise sugary sweet voice. One of her favorite Chloes was the one that, against every aspect of her nature, tried to insult someone. 

When she finished, she finally glanced up from her tanning position to look at Beca, smiling. “You’re not going to turn to ashes out here, Becs,” she said, tugging at Beca’s arm to loosen up her position, “Relax. You’d look good with some color.” 

Beca groaned, reluctantly moving to stretch herself next to Chloe, and resisting the urge to hiss at the sun. Chloe laughed, swatting at the smaller girl’s grumpy face. “There you go. Before you know it, I’ll get you to the beach.” 

It was the perfect set-up. Frequently, Beca wondered in Chloe had been a volleyball player in a past life, always there to position the ball right where it needed to be for the teammate to make a move. And, though Beca hated organized sports with most of her general being, she was tired of watching the ball fall flat. She took a breath, turning from facing the sky to facing Chloe, and started. “Well, we ca–” 

She stopped when she saw Amy walking towards them, greeting them with a “Whaddup, Vampiress and Care Bear?” 

To which she could confidently say: “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” 

2\. A week later she tried again, watching the way Chloe’s loose shirt slid off her shoulders when she taught the choreography, and the tendrils of red hair that were slipping from her braided up-do. There was patience in her eyes, and undiluted focus, and Beca resolved within the first five minutes of rehearsals that she wouldn’t walk out of the auditorium without a date. 

“Hey, Chlo,” was her big romantic intro, her hand reaching up to rest on the piano that Chloe was using as a desk. The redhead, distracted, looked up for a brief moment to throw Beca a smile. 

“What’s up, Becs?” 

Beca swallowed, realizing that the sheet music she was holding was becoming crumpled in her grip. “I liked the –” she gestured at the rehearsal space, waving her hands, “You know, the dance stuff today.” 

Chloe smiled, shaking her head a little. “What’s on your mind, Mitchell?” 

“Wha–Nothing!” Beca threw out a nervous giggle, “Nothing going on in this ol’ noodle.” Immediately, she grimaced, replaying the words in her head. “That was weird, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.” 

“Real smooooooth, Mitch,” she heard from behind her as CR reached underneath one of the desks to grab a folder before walking to the piano area. “Man, you’ve got a way with words.” 

Chloe pressed her lips together in a tight line to keep from smiling, and Beca’s face had reached the perfect blend of scowl and wince. CR had her arm around Beca, and she pulled her in tighter for a second, giving Beca a noogie. “No one can resist this one, huh?” 

Chloe looked up from her notes finally, her eyebrows raised. Beca couldn’t tell from the look whether Chloe knew what the underlying messages of their conversation held. But when Chloe winked, leaning closer as if revealing a secret to say, “That’s for fucking sure,” before leaving, Beca figured she knew exactly what was going on. 

3. “I don’t understand why you don’t just ask her already,” Stacie complained, reaching to eat the crusts off of CR’s plate, “It’s been a month. This whole sexual tension thing is getting real old.” 

CR muttered in agreement, as Jessica and Ashley nodded. Amy held her hand up, waiting for permission to speak. Then, “Can you please just get the keys to the U-Haul and make it happen?” 

The glares Beca sent the group where truly impressive enough for history books. She shook her head, pressing her hands to her temples and groaning. After the first two tries, her attempts became more frequent. They went from once a week to once a day, always waiting for the right segway to throw her into invitation-mode. Then, without fail, the Bellas would be there, nudging Beca into something they didn’t realize she was already trying to do. Once, even, Beca succeeded in asking Chloe to a movie night, only to have it turn into a Bella Bonding activity by the end of the day. 

“You’re all fucking insane,” Beca finally snapped, laying down on her bed, “Because I’ve been _trying_.” 

“Hun, I’ve seen you try, it’s despicable,” CR argued, to which Stacie offered a soulful “Mmmhmm”. 

“Maybe that’s because there’s never a moment when you guys aren’t barging in,” Beca shot back, reaching for her computer. 

“Maybe we’re barging in because you have the wooing abilities of a small, hairless wombat who was abandoned by his mother at a young age.” Amy muttered it, her eyes aimed towards the ground, and though Beca knew that probably meant her words were insulting, she didn’t have the mental capabilities to understand what the hell it meant. 

“I kind of think it’s time to take matters into our own hands,” Stacie said mischievously. “If Beca won’t d–”

“I would do it if you guys weren’t always around!” Beca said with frustration, typing her password into her computer. The sooner she had her headphones on, the sooner she’d be freed of this infuriating conversation. Only, instead of sinking into the safe place of her music, she heard a knock at the door and a collective “hiiiii” from the Bellas. When she looked up, Chloe was in the doorway. 

“I wasn’t aware there was a Bellas meeting,” Chloe said suspiciously, eying all the girls before her glance landed on Beca. She shook her head, seeming to talk herself out of something, and then opened her mouth to speak. Not once did her eyes leave Beca’s face. “It’s not important. Um. I wanted to talk to you about something. It’s not super urgent or anything just like I wanted to know if you wanted to get some food sometime? Like, just us?” 

The Bellas all shot their gaze at Beca, like they were watching a television show, and Beca smiled. Because of course it was this easy for Chloe. Of course she could do this is room full of nosey, overly curious and involved girls, and of course she could do it in one breath - like she wasn’t even thinking about it. 

“Um, yeah. Totally,” Beca answered, flustered. Chloe smiled, her hand still on the door handle. 

“Awesome,” she said, her eyes still focused on Beca. Then, she took a breath, looked around the room, and held her hand up. “For the record, none of you are allowed within 30 feet of where we’re eating. No offense, but you’ve got shit timing.” 


	31. The One With Acapella Pick-Up Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dude your minifics are awesome. *high five* 

“Yunno, M’glad that you got th’nodes surgery,” Beca slurred, looking up through her eyelashes at Chloe. She had a thin haze of sweat and drink and smoke glazing over her eyes, and when she leaned close to Chloe, the redhead had to hold her breath to keep her from getting a contact high. 

“Oh yeah? Why is that?” Chloe asked while she tried to usher Beca up the steps of her dorm. The smaller girl was weaving between the steps, bouncing from the railings and dragging her feet. Sending the tiny and entirely too competitive girl out without her supervision wasn’t just a dangerous thing to do, it seemed. No, it was downright irresponsible. Amy’s text a few minutes earlier ( _Get your fine ass down here and take care of your aca-wife_ ) made a lot more sense when Chloe saw what state Beca was in. 

Beca stopped walking immediately, hanging onto a railing as she swung around to Chloe’s face. Their noses were almost touching, and Beca was giggling already - the kind of giggle that sober Beca only let loose during pillow fights that the Bellas swore never to talk about. “'Cuz it made you n’ alto,” she puts a brave hand on Chloe’s hip and Chloe lets out a surprised “oh” in response. “And d’you know what an alto s’good at?”

Chloe bit her lip, holding back her laugh and settling for a shake of the head that acted as answer to Beca’s question and a way to show joking disapproval of the woman in front of her.  

 “They’re good at gettin’ lowwww,” Beca said, moving to drop her hips and start dancing. The move was immediately recognizable to Chloe as what they’d performed in last month’s Alpha Sigma Tau mixer, and she smiled at that. Beca Mitchell was considerably better at choreography than people ever gave her credit for. So of course she’d use the moves on her own time. 

Chloe swatted Beca, stopping her hip gyration and herding her back up the steps. “Let’s go, drunkie,” she said with a friendly giggle. She resisted the shiver that Beca’s hand pressed onto her hip, because the situation was ridiculous, and Beca was more than sloppy, and each moment of this needed to be remembered for proper mocking tomorrow. 

As Chloe tried to unlock her door, Beca stood facing her, her back pressed against the wall. “Hey Chlo,” she said, her eyes ¼ shut but still sparkling with mischief. The ghost of a smile never left her face. “Chlooooo.” 

Chloe stopped fiddling with her keys to look at Beca, who’d held her hand out limply to get attention. When Chloe grabbed it, slapping halfheartedly high fives into it, Beca continued what she wanted to say. “I can make you hittt all th’high notes.” 

As she said it, her hand slipped out of Chloe’s high five sandwich, skittering over Chloe’s belly in a ticklish way. Chloe pushed away the hitch in her breathing, grabbing Beca’s wrist and pulling it off of her. “I’ll bet you can,” she said, maintaining a clean, almost motherly voice. She nudged Beca off the wall, shoving her into the room and throwing in a friendly ass-slap to even the playing field. “Now, come on. To bed with you.” 

Beca turned around, hands forming claws. “You must be part cart because…Meee-owwww.”

Chloe threw Beca a glare, pulling out her pair of emergency pajamas for nights just like this one. She got Beca clothed carefully, wiping her face with a wet washcloth. The entire time, Beca offered out weak pick-up lines, always putting such effort in applying the right moves with them - a lean forward, a hand to the knee, a wiggle of her hips. It was humorous in all it’s misguidedness, and Chloe was reminded by how sexy Beca can be when she’s not trying. Because when she  _was_  trying, it became a comedy hour. 

They were both in bed, Beca demanding to be Chloe’s big spoon (something she’s  _so_ going to regret in the morning, Chloe thought), and the smaller girl hummed in Chloe’s ear. She was half asleep -had been for the better part of the half-hour as Chloe tried to clean her up - and her words were slurred from both intoxicants  _and_ exhaustion. If there was anything controlling Beca’s brain, Chloe would’ve been shocked. 

“Hey, Chloooo,” she whispered, “It’s good you’re an alto. Because I’m a soprano. But we could be mezzos, and go both ways.” 

To which Chloe responded by stifling her laughter into the pillow. 

 


	32. The One With the Locked Bathroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How about beca and Chloe had a minor disagreement and they resolve this then Chloe goes to the bathroom only to get locked in with her phone battery dead and beca freaks out thinking Chloe is really pissed and starts to unravel? Idk run with it my dear, your imagination is wonderful! — sent by anonymous

“I just…I just can’t comprehend this right now,” Chloe gritted through her teeth, moving to stand up, “Like, everything I know about you is in question.” 

Beca rolled her eyes at Chloe’s dramatics, holding onto the pillow that she’d put on her chest. “Chlo, in what universe would I like High School Musical?” 

“I’m not asking that you like it, but you could’ve at least seen it! Like, did you even exist between the years of 2006 and 2008?!?” 

Beca huffed out a breath, unlocking her phone. “S’not the end of the world. There’s, like, a million movies I haven’t seen.” 

“You’re impossible,” Chloe sighed, headed for stairs to her bedroom. Somewhere in the edges of Beca’s hearing, she identified the Chloe’s grumpy mumbles of “It’s so not  _just_ a movie” and “How am I supposed to trust you now?” 

Beca just laughed, leaning back again on the couch and scrolling through her social media feeds. Chloe had a flare for the dramatics, and the amounts of times the older girl would name a musical that Beca had no idea existed prepared her for arguments like these. They always ended in a particularly painful movie night and bag of popcorn, but, then again,  _those_ always ended in Chloe falling asleep on her shoulder and the sleepy eyes that would appear when Beca prodded Chloe awake to get changed for bed. 

She headed to work soon after the conversation, not thinking about it much in the face of the meeting she had with her boss and the coffee orders she had to fill. That is, until she received a text from Stacie. 

_[Stace (4:32pm)]: What’d you do to Red?_

_[Stace (4:32pm)]: We had an extra choreography practice to clean up the set…_

_[Stace (4:33pm)]: She’s not here, no one’s seen her at home_

_[Stace (4:34pm)]: W the exception of you, of course._

At the words, Beca’s stomach dropped. Her head became filled with that charging cold of anxiety, and her hands started to shake. It was unlike Chloe to not be where she should, and it was even more unlike Chloe to miss out on a dance hour. 

_[Beca (4:35pm)]: Did you try phone?_

_[Stace (4:38pm)]: No answer_

_Shit._ Aside from the fear that some danger had come to Chloe, Beca couldn’t help but hear her argumentative voice echoing in her memory. “Everything I know about you is in question” kept running through her head, and before she knew it, she was tasting blood in her mouth from all the lip-biting she was doing.  _Fucking Troy Bolton._

Though she assumed it was futile, she sent a series of texts to Chloe in apology, hoping to lessen the damage already done to what appeared to be an  _extremely_ fragile heart. 

_[Beca Pitchell (4:58pm)]: So i’m sorry about the whole movie thing_

_[Beca Pitchell (4:59pm)]: Don’t be mad_

_[Beca Pitchell (5:00pm)]: We can watch when I get back? Give me an education?_

By the time she clocked out at work, there was still no response. Beca sat at the wheel of her car with her hand holding tightly to the door handle. In a breath, she decided to pull her phone out again. What she typed took minutes of preparation, fear, and uncertainty. 

_[Beca Pitchell (5:48pm)]: Okay so maybe I have watched it_

_[Beca Pitchell (5:49pm)]: Okay, all of them. I’ve watched all of them._

There was still no response by the time she reached the Bellas house, which she saw was dark in every room except Chloe’s bathroom. She gripped the wheel tighter before putting the car in park. 

An angry Chloe Beale was a Chloe Beale she tried not to meet. Not because it was, obviously, unpleasant to deal with angry humans, but because happy Chloe gave her such comfort and trust, and the capability to exist on some plane of contentedness. The overwhelming control that her fear held on her now convinced her that Chloe was upstairs, packing her things into boxes to leave. Or lying on the floor, dead from some unknown disorder that sends you into cardiac arrest if you reach a certain level of rage. Or crying in the corner because Beca let her down on the impossibly large scale that was High School Musical. All because of fucking Troy Bolton. 

_[Beca Pitchell (6:17pm)]: You know the world can see us in a way that’s different from who we are…_

She felt like the silliest human in the world sending the text, nevermind the fact that she sat in her parked car humming the intro in order to remember the lyrics perfectly. 

_[Beca Pitchell (6:18pm)]: Creating space between us, til we’re separate hearts._

The hope was that this was enough of an embarrassing act that she wouldn’t have to perform the entire dance to the finale song in order to ease the tensions between the two of them. She found that if she took control of her punishments, she could make them considerably less humiliating that Chloe’s punishment were. 

Chloe didn’t respond to the lyrics, though, just as she didn’t respond to her name being shouted throughout the house. She decided to call Chloe to figure out what was happening, praying that no scarily deep voice picked up to tell her that Chloe had run away and sold her body for money all because she, Beca Mitchell, didn’t watch High School Musical. But when she called, she heard the opening lines of Titanium playing from Chloe’s bathroom. Quickly, Beca raced to the door, knocking frantically. 

“Chloe? Chlo?? God, I’m sorry I’m so so sorry,” she slid down the door, sitting in a fetal position, “I know it’s not dumb, because you like it. And I like you, so I like it too.” 

There was a painfully long series of seconds before Beca heard rustling in the bathroom. Then, Chloe’s bright pink nails peeked out under the crack in the door. “You’re cute,” Chloe hummed, not terribly angry. In fact, her voice held an ounce of sleepiness, like she’d fallen asleep in there.  

Beca breathed a little easier, though something still pulled at her gut. “Does that mean you forgive me?”

“Forgive you?” The confusion was clear in her voice. 

“Yeah for the whole HSM thing,” Beca hated to bring it back up. “Isn’t that why you locked yourself in the bathroom?”

She thought she could hear Chloe grin ridiculously, though that could’ve been a figment of her imagination. 

 _“_ Becs,” Chloe said carefully, slipping her hand out from the crack, “I’m kinda locked in here on accident.” 

Beca, who was still in fetal position on the floor, pressed her head against the door frame. “And you didn’t call anyone?”

Chloe’s phone slid under the crack this time, and it was clearly dead. 

 _“_ Oh, right. Okay,” Beca said, throwing the phone on the bed. “Um, extra key is….” 

Chloe directed Beca via words where she might find the bathroom key, and after several efforts to get the key in the right way, the door finally squeaked, letting Chloe out. 

“Look, we’re breaking free,” Chloe said with a poke and a wink, going towards her charger to plug her phone in. Mid-eye-roll, Beca realized what would be meeting her when the redhead’s phone turned on. She raced towards Chloe, knocking the cell phone clear out of her hands. Chloe shot her a shocked expression. 

“You confessed to everything, didn’t you?” Chloe guessed with an eerie amount of knowing. This time, Beca shot her the shocked look. Chloe just laughed, putting a hand on Beca’s shoulder. “You’ve got that High School Musical girl vibe, Bec. What can I say? You weren’t foolin’ me.” 

Beca groaned, still trying to keep Chloe as far as her phone as possible but failing.

“Now I expect some aca-awesome HSM mixes, missy,” Chloe chirped, grabbing her computer. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 


	33. The One With the SCOTUS ruling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got a million prompts for this when the U.S. got their heads out of their asses and legalized same-sex marriage

“Well, shit.” The mutter came from Beca’s back, from the television screen that was glowing around her outline. Chloe heard the grunt, peering around Beca’s shoulder, while trying to keep an eye on the eggs she was cooking for breakfast. Though she saw a glimpse of a headline and a rally of people, the source behind Beca’s unalterable focus remained a mystery. She though she detected a quick swipe of the cheek, but Beca was never one to cry at those sick puppy reports. 

“You know, Becs,” Chloe started, her voice still raspy from sleep. She momentarily forgot about the eggs, padding over to where Beca stood and slipping her arms around the small woman from behind. “You’re a much better door than a window.” She punctuated the sentence with a kiss to Beca’s neck. Beca melted for a second, humming, “And you’re a better kisser than a fry cook.” 

Chloe’s eyes were closed, her chin rested on Beca’s neck, but the moment Beca said something, she could smell smoke. “Fuck,” she whispered, spinning away from Beca quickly to address the ruined breakfast. “Damn! I was determined not to lose focus that time.” 

“I mean, it’s not your fault,” Beca allotted, standing in front of the TV still, “This ass can be distracting.” 

Chloe rolled her eyes, moving to dump the contents of her pan into the sink. She heard the commercial break start and watched as Beca went to look for a safe bowl of cereal. 

“So…..” Chloe pressed into the silence with a curious grin and questioning eyes. “What was you’re little exclamation about?” 

“Hmm?” Beca barely glanced at Chloe, biting her lip and focusing too intently on the bowl of cereal she was pouring. 

“I’m assuming ‘well, shit’ wouldn’t be your word choice if the news were reporting something apocalyptic, so I’m not, like, concerned, but, yunno, couples who share breakfast together engage in small talk. Current events.” 

“Small talk sucks dick,” Beca answered simply, taking a spoonful of cereal. She was tracing lines in the maze on the back of the box with a pen, but there was a attention centered on it that Chloe knew had to run deeper. She looked as if she was writing something down.  

“Come on,” Chloe reached over the counter to poke Beca, “Just tell me. It’s a stupid news report.” 

When she went to reach, Beca looked up worriedly while placing her hands protectively around the box. It made Chloe stop halfway through the motion, put a finger to her lips and tap. “Becs, what’s up.” 

When Chloe asked, it wasn’t a question. Because questions had invitations as a postscript - a little asterisk that implies you can  _choose_ what you want to answer and what you want to leave out. Chloe’s questions, however - so filled with sharp, rattlesnake curiosity but also blended with soft, bubbly enthusiasm - seemed to be void of this asterisk invitation. And the only reason Beca wasn’t scared of that classic Chloe Beale - the only reason she didn’t resent being rejected the joyful loneliness of her privacy - was because she never  _wanted_ to not  _want_ to answer.  

And today had been no different. She kept it quiet, kept it hidden enough to develop a strategy and build a game plan in under ten minutes. A girl like Chloe deserved that much. But the whole plan relied on Chloe’s questioning in the first place.

“Well,” Beca started, still darting her eyes around the room. “I’m…conflicted. Cuz like, I never really wanted to get married.”

“I know, Becs, and, we’ve talked about it. And I understan–”

“The thing is,” Beca continued, barreling over Chloe’s words - all of which were pushed into one breath. Chloe was surprised at the interruption, the corners of her lips stretching out to emphasize the oddness. “The thing is that I always just claimed that we would never have the think about it. Because, it just wasn’t possible for us.” 

Chloe nodded, sticking her thumb out to the television. “Does this have anything to do with the better door than the window joke or –” 

“Hey, Chlo?” Beca answered Chloe’s question with her own. She held her hand up and moved it slowly down, manually putting Chloe on mute. “I’m trying to talk here, if you don’t mind.” 

Chloe held her hands up, backing away. 

“See, I’m fucking pissed,” Beca continued, though she didn’t seem too perturbed at all. “Because now I have no fucking excuse at all.” 

“Wait, what?” Chloe moved forward, her brow furrowing in confusion. The commercial break ended, and on the screen was a rainbow flag stretched through a city. The headline read, “Supreme Court Ruling Makes Same-Sex Marriage a Nationwide Right”. Beca watched how Chloe’s eyes grew wider with each second. She watched the way Chloe’s memories played on the blue green on her pupils, and she loved it when Chloe got so excited that all of her carbonization fizzed out. Chloe’s excitement wasn’t bubbling, at that point. It was steaming. It was shocked. 

Beca watched as Chloe tried to swallow the tears that were threatening to break free. She sniffled twice. When she turned around, Beca wasn’t in her seat at the counter. She wasn’t at eye level either. Chloe craned her neck even more than usual to look for Beca, and found her tying her shoe, with that goddamn cereal box sitting beside her. 

“I realized last night, at 4:39am, that I wanted to marry you,” Beca began, nearly needing to stop so she could appreciate the way Chloe’s eyes shot from confused to completely sparkling in a matter of seconds. “Not because  _you_  wanted to marry me, or because it ‘only made sense’, or because of any of our long, drawn-out conversation about it all. No, I just…I just, like,  _really_ wanted to marry you.” 

Chloe took a breathe to steady herself, pressing a hand to the countertop. 

“That…is maybe one of the strangest and most certain urges I’ve ever had. It wiped out every ounce of fear or doubt that I felt about all that shit. I want to marry you, simple as that. And I think the fact that I want that with you is proof that we are something special.” 

Now, Beca was the one taking a breath. She ran her hands over the edges of the cereal box and sighed before shoving it into Chloe’s hands. 

On the maze of the back of the box, there was a cartoonized American map - already printed and complete with lobster in Maine and gumbo in Louisiana. Circling the edges in Beca’s messy scrawl were the lyrics to Titanium, and the top of the box featured a lady bug crossing paths with a grasshoper. Over the dotted lines of the map, in darker marker, Beca wrotes, “50 States Still Isn’t Enough For All the Times I Want to Marry You”. 

“So, I have…a certain question for you,” Beca said, a grin rising up to her features. The nervousness had dispersed the moment Chloe took the box. All that was left was the feeling of something bursting through her chest. 

“Fire away,” Chloe said, trying to remain suave and confident, though her voice was scratchy and thick with tears. They both laughed, and, according to how they told the story, it was in perfect harmony. 

Beca nodded, shifting on her knees. 

“Thank God. This isn’t super comfortable,” she mumbled, her hands shaking. Chloe smiled, though, holding out her hand prematurely. The eagerness made Beca shake her head lovingly, taking Chloe’s hand in hers. “

Chloe Beale,” she paused, throwing one more glance at Chloe to check her blue-eye levels (sky-rocket champagne), “Will you marry me?”


	34. The One(s) With Angry!Chloe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the times y'all asked for angry!Chloe.

Beca has a routine. And, though it would take a hell of a head-lock (or a whole lot of shots) for her to  _ever_ admit it, she lives for that routine in an eerily Posen kind of way. When the schedule cracks and the familiarity of time and place slips, she becomes even grumpier than normal, the shake of her leg not matching any beat that’s booming through her head, with bloody-bitten-lips and a tendency to snap. Which is why she can’t seem to see the words written on the page in front of her - they’re blurring, seemingly on purpose so as to force her to unlock her phone and check the time once more. 

Because part of Beca’s routine is Chloe - more particularly, at this moment, the 3:24 visit she gets from Chloe when the redhead finishes her final class of the afternoon and slumps into Beca’s room for a quick rant about the events of her day. Or a quick distraction. Or a quick stress-reliever. Or even, really, a quick cuddle. It is currently 3:30, and she heard Chloe whistling her arrival like always at 3:23, and, right now, there is an utter lack of Chloe-Beale-visit happening in her room. 

When the whistling gets loud enough to press at Beca’s temples and she cracks the lead in her pencil, she finally slams the book closed and sits back. Running her hands through her hair, she stands up and heads for the door, moving like she’s working against the syrup of time - which, with the strictness of her routine, might actually be true. 

“Chlo? You home?” she shouts down the steps. There’s a distinct red bun on the couches in the living room, and she watches as one hand reaches up uncomfortably to tug at it. 

“Beale, I see you,” Beca continues, taking another step out of the room. It pains her to say it, because it’s a game of improv in a place where they have set and distinct daily lines, but Chloe has yet to turn her head to face Beca, and the discomfort curling in her stomach at that overcomes the pain of veering even further off her routine’s track. “How was your day?” 

“Fine,” Chloe says shortly, sharply, and Beca reaches the bottom of the stairs to find Chloe’s arms crossed.

“Okayyyy _yyyyy.”_ Beca steps quietly into the living room, peeking over the edge of the couch to be nose-to-nose with Chloe. She throws on her best smile, grabbing Chloe’s shoulders and tapping them with her fingers. “What’s up, buttercup?” 

She thinks, briefly, there’s a twitch of a smile on Chloe’s lips. But it’s gone in a flash of a second. Beca moves to hop on the edge of the back of the couch, steadying herself before leaning down and trying to tear at the arms that are rigidly folded across Chloe’s chest. “Chlo?” 

A silent Chloe was something that Beca, surprisingly, was familiar with. Like grey clouds before a storm, Chloe’s silence tended to promise a night spent watching old movies and eating ice cream from the carton, interspersed with sobs about a professor or a grade or a parent or a life in general. But occasionally, breaking through the other silences, Chloe would produce a quiet that was humming, buzzing with a kind of electric sting, where her jaw was set and her brows were furrowed, and everything stirring in her eyes promised more thunder than storm. 

This version of silent Chloe, understandably, scared Beca more than the other.  _Way_ more than the other. 

“Becs,” Chloe spits by way of a response, though Beca can’t help but think it was more of an accusation than it was a response.  “When was the last time you did your laundry?” 

Beca puffs out a breath, throwing her legs over Chloe’s head and slipping onto the couch, hugging her knees to her chest. “Shit, I don’t know, like…how long ago was Christmas break?”

Something about the words snaps a fuse in Chloe, and she slaps the cushion next to her, jolting into a standing position and shaking her head. “I knew it. I effing knew it.” 

Though the words were said more to herself than to Beca, the smaller girl looks up incredulously - confused and terrified. 

“My blue sweater, Beca! My cerulean blue sweater with the buttons on the shoulders!” 

Beca cracks a grin despite herself, moving to scratch her forehead. “Cerulean, Chloe? What’re you, Crayola?”

She says it in a teasing way, reaching out to reel Chloe in, but Chloe steps back, holding her hands out to grab the air in frustration. She lets out a grunt, her eyes bugging bigger, before turning around and pressing a hand to her temple. “Goddammit. Beca, you  _borrowed_ that sweater. The Tuesday we got back from break.  _Three_ months ago.” 

And, Beca thinks, the wrath of Chloe is so much more horrifying when it’s gritted between teeth, slipping under the surface of hissed words instead of shouts. She feels for a second like she might cry under the weight of the glare pressing into her. Chloe’s not yelling by any stretch of the word, but the frustration in her voice is enough to bring the Bella house alive, with face peeking through doorways to check-in and watch. 

“Okay, Chlo,” Beca holds her hands up, standing and approaching Chloe like one would approach a wild bear, “It’s fine. I’ll wash it. No biggie.” 

“Oh,” Chloe nods furiously, still glaring at Beca, “Yes, thank you, that’s  _totally_ a not a big deal.” The sarcasm in her voice is so thick, Beca thinks they might need to spend less time together. 

“I’m lost,” Beca admits, trying to scan over Chloe’s face for an explanation. 

“My sweater - my  _favorite_ sweater - has been rotting under a pile of your filth for three effing months, and not once did you think, ‘Ah, yes, this is Chloe’s sweater- her  _favorite_ sweater - and she might want this back. I, being 2 steps away from being a proper girlfriend, will get it to her as soon as I can’?” 

“I’ve been busy!” Beca argues, “Things slip between the cracks!” 

“And then,” Chloe continues like she never heard Beca, her voice rising as she paces through the living room. “You have the fucking balls to not wake up this morning. Sleeping away like some sleepy sleeper thing without the slightest care that your girlfriend is doing everything but electrocuting you because her grad school interview is  _today_ and she  _needs_ her blue sweater - her  _favorite_ blue sweater - which is currently sitting God knows where under a pile of God knows what smelling like burned and dead rat feces and probably not even remotely unwrinkled.” 

She stops her pacing then, her eyes roaming around the room to see the heads that had popped in. Finally, she lands on Beca, and Beca sees what she’d always known the Chloe thunder to turn into: a break, a glitch, a crack in her voice and in the fire in her eyes. She’s near tears, and Beca’s eyes are already watery at the tone of Chloe’s voice - like a kid who can’t control crying after being scolded. Beca doesn’t have the brain-space to wonder which is worse: silent, fuming Chloe or the calm, disappointed Chloe that comes so quickly after. 

“Shit,” Beca says, tugging at her ear. “Shit.” 

“Yeah,” Chloe snaps. Her hands are on her hips, and she’s nodding. 

“That’s your lucky sweater,” Beca says, as if she’s announcing it newly to the world. Chloe throws the same “Yeah” at her, with just as much spite. “Shit.” 

“Laundry.  _Now,”_ Chloe’s voice raises a little more, and she throws a finger up to point to Beca’s room. “Mine  _and_ yours. You’re on a weekly schedule starting right now, and when you borrow something of mine, you better bet I’m pulling out Aubrey’s old Memo cards so this doesn’t happen again.” 

Throughout the orders, Beca watches as the harshness in her face falls, her tone softening - not a lot, but enough. Nodding, Beca takes a cautious step towards Chloe. “Aye aye cap’n,” she says, throwing out a salute. Chloe takes a deep breath, allowing her shoulders to cave in slightly. “Additionally, this is where I say I’m sorry, and also you don’t need a sweater to be lucky when you ARE luck, and also…just…yeah, how did the interview go?” 

Chloe doesn’t respond, instead falling face first into the couch and somehow pulling Beca down with her. When she turns around, her face is as smooth as it’s ever been, cleared of fire and filled with light again. “Well, the person was totally five minutes late, but, whatever, I didn’t mention it because I…”

She continues on like that, trailing through each question given by the interviewer and her subsequent response, all the while playing with Beca’s hand absentmindedly. 

Beca hums in agreement, still trying to still her racing heart at the sight and sound of an angry Chloe, and using the fact that she was still right on schedule as a way of calming herself down. 

 

\--

 

“I’m not angry,” Chloe huffed, the words seething out from between her teeth. The inaccuracy of her words was proven in the grip she was maintaining over her drink. “I’m just disappointed, Beca.” 

Beca rolled her eyes, moving away from the counter of red solo cups. “Chlo, chill. It’s not like it’s a big deal. So what if I don’t like country music? If anything,  _I_ should be mad at  _you_ for liking the shit in the first place.” 

She wasn’t looking at Chloe when she said it, moving instead towards the couch in the middle of the Treble house. Deciding against it, though, when she realized what a house full of acapella boys could introduce to an unsuspecting couch, she turned back around. Chloe stood behind her, her mouth open and her arms crossed. She looked hurt, almost, if it weren’t for the glaring fire in her eyes. 

“That  _shit_?!?” Chloe gaped, blinking back tears. 

“Dude, Chlo, it’s nothing to cry about.” As soon as she finished saying that, though, she regretted it. In a second, Chloe’s tears were gone, replaced with a set jaw and flaring nostrils. 

“I’m not crying,” she said incredulously (though at this point she very clearly was). “I’m just so overwhelmed by the ignorance of your music taste that it’s making me emotional.” 

Beca took a breath, putting her cup down on the coffee table and turning her head around. “The. Ignorance. Of.  _My._ Music taste?” 

She finished off her drink, and moving quickly to the smaller girl. Stacie was trapped by a Treble in the corner behind them, but when she heard the fire in Beca’s voice she immediately snapped to attention. Beca felt the force of more than a few onlookers’ eyes at the back of her head. Nevertheless, Chloe’s words rang in her head. 

“I can’t…” she lifted her hands to her hair, ruffling it in frustration before throwing her arms back down. “Ugh. You’ve got to be fucking joking, Chlo!” 

Chloe laughed, but it was bitter and full of scorn. “Okay, Becs, I’m sorry we can’t all listen to this new-age, unheard of shit that you’re such a big fan of. Sue me if I’m tired of listening to synths and banjos with tooth-floss for strings in all of it’s experimental sounds.

“If we did,” she continued, walking forward enough to now be nose-to-nose with Beca, “Then it wouldn’t be good anymore, would it? You keep filling your iPod with the idea that ‘unknown’ means ‘art’, while I go on actually  _enjoying_ myself with songs that are  _good_ and  _fun_.” 

“Shitttttt,” she heard Cynthia-Rose say under her breath, because, at this point, the entire room quieted to hear the couple fight. 

“What the fuck, Chlo? Good and fun? Please. At least my music doesn’t have the same four notes repeated over and over in  _every single fucking song._ You want to talk to me about good music? Please for the love of  _god_ don’t start by listing the merits of  _bluegrass.”_

“I’d watch my arse if I were you, Beca,” Amy said, sauntering into the room with Bumper close behind, “You’ve just awaken Bi-furious Red over here, and ginger’s don’t take well to alcohol and insult.” 

“Stay out of this, Amy,” Chloe snapped, though Beca could, in fact, detect a subtle slurring in her words. She took the red head’s wrist, a move which was immediately resisted, and tugged her closer. 

“Outside. Now,” she said through clenched teeth, still hearing Chloe’s words reverberating in her mind. 

“At least we can agree on that much,” Chloe huffed, nodding resolutely and leading Beca to the sliding glass doors. When the door slid closed with a snap, she spun around to face the smaller woman. 

“You’ve got a lot of gall, Beca,” she sneered, one finger out-stretched, “To even dare to insult my music.” 

“Me? You insulted mine too, you know,” Beca stuttered. The entire conversation, Chloe moved forward intently, and Beca refused to back down. Now, though, with the moonlight outlining the harshness of Chloe’s stare, she started to take a few steps back. It was a different side of Chloe, to say the least. One devoid of the easy smiles and puppy pouts of everyday Chloe Beale. But, while Beca should’ve been surprised, she found herself only scared. The sun was made of fire, not just warmth, and so the reaction only made sense. She imagined it’d been hidden for a while though, pressed down like coal beneath the earth and the calming hands of others. Pressed down, perhaps, by simple songs and steady beats and strong hips. 

“So what? How many people have shit on your taste in music, Becs?” Chloe said, pushing her hair back. “What? One person, maybe?” 

Beca bit her lip, unsure of where this was going. Once she realized that Chloe needed to let this piece of her out, just for one night, she backed up and crouched down (figuratively speaking) to give her the chance. 

She wasn’t letting Chloe win, that much was certain, but she  _was_ going to see where Chloe was headed with this spiel of hers. 

“That’s what I thought,” Chloe said, “You want to know how many boyfriends have shit on mine? You want to go ahead and guess? How many professors immediately assume I’m not important because they saw Taylor Swift on my iPod? It’s not fucking Bastille and Sons or Sufjan Iver, but that doesn’t mean that the Dixie Chicks aren’t damn good to listen to when you need a good cry. Or that Christina isn’t queen of the 6-Octave vocal range.” 

Her anger was dying out, her boiling tone quickly just becoming steam. Chloe was almost resentful of the way Beca was looking at her now, as if she was hurt and needed help. 

“I know music, Beca,” she said, “So fuck you because country music is like a giant love-song to the American wa–” 

She was cut off by Beca’s lips pressing against hers, and, for a moment, she gave into it. Within her last few sentences, though the words conveyed spite, Chloe was turning back into the warm sunshine that Beca was used to, and so the kiss wasn’t a big risk. Even if it was, Beca would’ve done it, if anything just to preserve the angry Chloe from a moment before. Because burning Chloe was scarier than warm, shining Chloe, but damn, burning Chloe was –

“Hot,” Beca said out-loud, pulling away from the kiss. “You’re hot when you’re angry.” 

Chloe blushed, her anger all but gone within seconds. She looked almost relieved to have gotten that bitterness out of her. Lighter. Brighter. 

“You bitch,” Chloe sneered, a grin on her face, before leaning back in for another kiss. Then, without warning, she pulled away again. Beca looked up at her, confused, but Chloe smiled wide, putting her hands on the smaller girl’s shoulder and pushing. 

Beca wasn’t aware of how close they’d been to the Trebles’ pool. The push was enough to make her lose her center of gravity, tumbling right into the water. When she popped back up, pushing her hair out of her face, she saw Chloe smiling wickedly. 

“Don’t you have something to say to me?” Chloe said, her arms crossed. The fake anger she had on her face was filled with much more flirtatiousness than the real anger from before. Beca treaded the water, kicking her legs and staring up at Chloe in disbelief. “I’m waitingggggg,” the other girl sang. 

Beca closed her eyes, sighing. “You’ve got amazing taste in music, Chloe Beale, and I will listen to every Shania Twain album in existence if it means you, in all your music-loving glory, forgive me.” 

Chloe’s smile was wide as she held her arms out to help a sopping wet Beca out of the pool. Crouched to the ground, she hugged Beca, soaking the whole front of her outfit too. “Man, Posen really taught you how to apologize last year, didn’t she?” 

Beca shrugged. “Meh, some red-head has been good at showing me how to beg for mercy,” she said with a wink, and Chloe laughed. 

“That was our first official fight, you know,” Chloe said, smiling like it meant there were wedding bells in the distant future. Beca scoffed, rolling her eyes and standing up. 

“Yes, I’ll be sure to fetch the celebratory balloons,” she said ironically. Chloe quickly joined her at standing level, and they started to head back for the house only to realize most of the party-guests had their faces pressed to the glass doors. Beca stalled, her hand winding around Chloe’s waist. Going back into the party after the show they’d put on wasn’t the most appealing thing in the world. 

“I wasn’t kidding about that whole hot thing,” she said, almost embarrassed at how it came out. Chloe didn’t mind, though, biting back her smile. 

“Yeah?” Chloe asked, pulling Beca’s arm off of her waist to grab her hand and start moving towards the Bellas new house right past the bushes. “That’s good to hear, because I’m not a big fan of balloons, but I know the perfect gift for occasions such as ‘couple’s first fight’.” 

 

 

\--

 

“Okay, that’s it,” Chloe slammed her book, throwing it down on the floor beside the couch. The sound of the book hitting the floor reverberated through the otherwise quiet room, and it was sudden enough to make Beca jump. She pushed her headphones back, looking at Chloe in concern. 

“Neurobio becoming a bit too much for you, Chlo?” she said, trying to throw out a calming grin to ease the tension that was coming from the redhead in waves. It seemed to make things worse, though, judging by the way Chloe threw her head back and groaned. Her hands were at either side of her temples, as if she was holding herself together by sheer force of will. 

Without hesitation, Beca closed her laptop, shifting so that her feet were on the ground and she was facing Chloe. She’d watched it slowly happen, somewhere along the course of weeks they’d spent non-stop together over the summer, Chloe’s weightlessness dispelled. She started tapping her leg when they sat around - a habit that seemed to be more annoying when it wasn’t Beca doing it. Then, she started scratching at the sides of her head when they watched TV, enough so that Beca noticed a few small sores along the redhead’s hairline. It was a strange transition because in their relationship, Beca was the angsty one - the one permanently on the brink of a blow-out, the one who clenched her teeth in anger at the small things. Beca relied on Chloe’s easiness and the way she seemed to breathe calm out for Beca to consume, so when the redhead began to snap at Beca for clothes left on the floor or trying to help her with summer classes, the balance of their relationship changed. And Beca noticed. She’d been getting increasingly more worried, to the point where she texted Aubrey for help. _That’s your battle to fight, Beca,_ the girl responded when Beca asked,  _God, you’re so blind._

She didn’t answer Aubrey after that last text, confused and not really wanting to figure out what the hell she meant. 

What was strange was that Chloe’s increasing irritability seemed to reach it’s peak during her favorite moments with the other woman. Beca wasn’t a big fan of cuddling - or any time of human contact, really - but she craved the moments when she was done with her summer internship for the day and could come home to Chloe’s hug, to the feeling of Chloe’s arms around hers as they watched the bullshit that is the Bachelorette, with Chloe alternating between throwing popcorn at the TV and into Beca’s mouth. Lately, though, as they got closer over the course of the night, Chloe would go from humming contentedly to backing away with a huff and a bit of her lip within moments. It happened, too, when Chloe would make her dinner once a week, welcoming her home with a plateful of pasta or seafood, and Beca would smile, joking that she had the best wife in the world. Chloe’s chuckle lost it’s bounce, becoming almost bitter at that. 

And even the simple moments like tonight, playing a light game of footsie while she worked on her mixes and Chloe perused her textbook, started to end suddenly when Beca silenced her calls from Jesse or offered Chloe her headphones so that her “best friend can get a taste of” her new mix. Chloe would hop off the couch, frustrated in a way that would be adorable if it weren’t so worrying, and slam the door to her room without coming out for the rest of the night. 

Beca placed a placating hand on Chloe’s knee, getting the feeling that the tensions were rising to reach this very point, tonight, in the middle of July in a house made for five more women. 

“What’s up, Chlo?” she said carefully. Confrontation wasn’t her strong suit, but neither was comforting people through touch, so Beca figured everything was worth a try. 

Chloe breathed through her nose, resisting the urge to push off the hand on her knee. “You,” she said, almost sneering. Then, the hand on her knee left of it’s own accord. When the word came out, she couldn’t stop the rush of words that followed. “You’re infuriating, Beca, and I can’t fucking stand it anymore.” 

Her eyes were closed, but she heard Beca squeak in hurt and surprise. She felt her move from the couch, and Chloe picked up a pillow, throwing it back down to try to let out her anger. 

“All summer, Becs!” She finally opened her eyes, standing up. Her throat hurt from the scream, but she pushed onwards, feeling the vein in her neck stand out. “I’ve been trying all summer and here you are just fucking oblivious and it’s infuriating!” 

Beca was  _never_ a fan of confrontation, though when she was blamed for something she tended to get defensive. Now, however, she saw a fire in Chloe’s eyes that was different than what she was used to, and she shrank into herself. 

The look of a scared Beca was almost enough to break Chloe back into her usual self. Almost. 

“What’re you talking about?” Beca said, and she hated that her voice cracked at the end. She was tearing up, but she bit her lip to keep it from trembling. Chloe scoffed, pressing her hands to her head again.. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, more to herself than to the other woman in the room. Then, moving as quick as the storm that had been rumbling in her chest all summer, she reached towards Beca, grabbing her shoulders and pressing her lips against the smaller girl’s violently. Surprised, Beca tensed under her grip until she slowly gave into the kiss, letting the sudden passion lead them sloppily. 

Just as quickly as it began, though, it stopped. 

“That,” Chloe said, out of breath, “Is what I’m talking about, you dolt.” 

 


	35. The One With a Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt idea: beca asking chloe to marry her in front everyone (fam can be included or nah) at some party or something (maybe bc legalized marriage?), and jesse and the bellas helped beca set it up and get attention bc he's a bro in this, and beca being an awkward idiot saying stuff like "I don't want to be your gf anymore.. oh fuck that sounds bad- wait just- no don't cry, it makes me want to cry- shit, just hear me out- i meant i like the sound of you being my wife better." — sent by anonymous

Beca wasn’t much of a planner. 

Hell, she was born a week past the due date. Her mom always said it was because she’d been procrastinating for so long that she lost track of time completely. Her grandma said it was probably because she overslept.  

So, yea, Beca wasn’t much of a planner. 

But Chloe was. 

Even before she sat in front of Chloe’s door, the night before they both moved out of the Bellas house, to tell her not to leave, and to say she was scared too, and to finally mutter out a very quick, very panicked “Because I love you”, Chloe would regale her with the plans she had for the future. In fact, the only time Chloe was willing to muck up her strict 8 hour sleep schedule was when she wanted to give Beca updates on the floral arrangements that would be present at her wedding shower. It was clear from the very beginning that the time Beca spent fiddling with broken knick-knacks and drawing in chalk on the sidewalk, Chloe spent imagining the ideal white dress to carry her down the aisle. 

Every one of Chloe’s ramblings about that day always ended with a “If that’s what you want” and a sigh that promised Beca that there was no pressure. Because while Chloe stayed up late several nights throughout the lifetime of their relationship planning whatever wedding existed in her future, Beca sat through many dinners throughout the lifetime of their relationship ranting about the various flaws and weaknesses that made up the institution of marriage. Sure, the rants were introduced with a story about her parents’ past - about the court orders or childhood therapy she’d been subjected to or the facets of her personality that were a result of, as the docs always put it, “coming from a broken home”. But still, it was clear enough that Beca and Chloe didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye on the significance of the presence of a ring on a ring finger, and Chloe, in all her excitement, maintained as much neutrality and indifference as possible because if there was one thing that never waned in Chloe, it was her selflessness. 

So, when Beca sat on the couch next to Chloe after a particularly rough day at the studio with the unshakable realization that she wanted to marry the woman curled into her side muttering critiques about the dancers on their television screen, she actually, audibly, swore. 

And when Chloe just nodded, answering the swear with, “I know right?! That couple should totes not have been voted off”, Beca used the opportunity to slip her phone out from between the couch cushions. 

_[Beca (9:32pm)]: I want to get married_

_[B _een There Done That (9:33pm)]: i knew it__

_[Been There Done That (9:33pm)]: i told you we were gonna have aca-children_

_[Been There Done That (9:34pm)]: as much as i like texted proposals from my ex, though, i’m kinda seeing someone at the moment_

_[Beca (9:35pm)]: I hate you_

_[Been There Done That (9:37pm)]: damn, it’s always hot and cold from you_

_[Beca (9:38pm)]: I’m serious, Jess. What do I do?_

_[Been There Done That (9:39pm)]: Listen to our queen and put a ring on it_

It was the certainty of the emotion that scared her the most. She realized that with Chloe there was no purgatorial “I think”. The redhead somehow always drove her from holding with white knuckles to the belief she thought she had to running headlong in the opposite direction without warning. It’s how she became an acapella girl. And how she became the kind of girl who had another girl with whom she enjoyed kissing. And how she became the kind of girl who had another girl with whom she enjoyed more-than-kissing. And how she became the kind of girl who had another girl with whom she enjoyed watching dance competitions and trips to Michaels with. 

And, apparently, how she became the kind of girl who not only “thought” she wanted to marry Chloe, but  _knew_ she wanted to marry Chloe with every fiber of her tiny being, like the actual absence of a ring on her finger was pulling a hole in her gut. 

It was also how Beca became the kind of girl who planned. Because there was a scary amount of power in knowing every single detail of Chloe’s imaginary wedding day and absolute nothing about what the woman expected for a proposal. She simultaneously knew it mattered and knew she would fuck it up, so her anxiety reached such a state that Jesse was nearly permanently flashing up on her phone screen, and she swore there was an ounce of worry growing larger in Chloe’s eyes each time Beca picked up her phone. 

“Jesse alright and all that?” she asked once when Beca texted during dinner. Without looking up, Beca nodded, typing furiously. 

“Just brainstorming,” she answered vaguely. Chloe had hummed into her glass on wine in such a way that Beca knew she’d have to reiterate the platonic nature of her relationship with Jesse through any means possible (note: “any means possible” just meant her personal favorite brand of Chloe-convincing-strategy). 

It was like that for two and a half weeks - with Beca rushing out of the room the minute her phone rang, or slamming her computer shut if Chloe walked by behind her. And if Chloe thought the “I swear nothing’s suspicious” sex was  _actually_ suspicious, well, she never exactly complained. 

And, yeah, it was weird that Aubrey was having a “I’m Glad the US Got Their Heads Out of Their Asses” party, dubbed by Fat Amy as “Rainbow Palooza”, Chloe chalked it up to one of Posen’s traditionally annual bursts of best-friend-support and asked no questions until an hour before the shindig. 

“Babe, didya know Stace is in town?” She was curling her hair, peeking at her reflection to see Beca pacing around the bedroom. At the sound of her voice, Beca stopped, looking guiltily at her girlfriend. 

“Um,” she shrugged, shaking her head a little too quickly, “No idea. Weird.” 

“I thought so too. Like, I know it’s Emily’s fall break and Amy’s got that jelly-wrestling convention next weekend, but what’re the chances all the Bellas would be in town?” Letting go of the level on the curling iron, one perfect ringlet fell in front of her face. “It’s super strange.” 

Beca shrugged again, staying still but letting her eyes roam around the room. “You always said you like it when we’re all together again so…”

“I’m not complaining,” Chloe shot out, “I’m just saying.” 

“Cool, babe,” Beca muttered, looking at Chloe like she was crazy and jumping at the sound of her phone going off. “Listen, I gotta take this,” she said, pointing at the door, “Consider this your 10 minute warning.” 

Despite all her optimism and overall unrealistic expectations of the goodness of humanity, Chloe had a mean tendency to obsessively worry once it became apparent that something was awry. And, over the years, especially throughout the years she spent with a permanently pent-up Beca, she learned to corral that panic into just running thought, rationalizing it as far into oblivion as she could manage with simple “it’s probably nothing”s and “she’s just texting her ex for advice on birthday cake recipes”. Still, when Beca shied away from the hand that Chloe placed on her hip as they crossed the street to Aubrey’s house and pulled Jesse, along with a Stacie that Chloe didn’t even get to say hi to, and a Jessica that had a mischievous grin on her face, the rationalization grew quieter. It didn’t help that Aubrey was looking at her out of the corner of her eye every few seconds, practically radiating vibes of anxiety when she shoved glass after glass of rum and Coke into Chloe’s hands. Or that Beca was in the coat room (guest room…but of course Aubrey needed a place for guests to put their coats) for a good forty-five minutes of the party. 

When she slipped out of the room, Chloe didn’t move to greet her, waiting for the uncomfortable distance between them to be filled by Beca’s cautious shuffles. She could smell alcohol on Beca’s breath. Whiskey – the drink that Beca sneaked a shot of before she had to give presentations at work or sit through a dinner with her dad. There was a shake to the hand that she put on the small of Chloe’s back as a greeting. 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” she said, trying to hold a steadiness to her voice. 

“S’fine,” Chloe said quietly, sipping more of her drink. “Why is an Aubrey Posen party playing your mixes, Beca?” 

The playlist didn’t fit the scene too well, admittedly, but Beca had a compilation of Chloe’s favorites saved and growing in her iPod from the moment the redhead stormed into her shower, and an acoustic version of Titanium was beginning to pour through the speakers. 

“Not even she can deny my mad skills,” Beca said simply, relying on the music to tap down her nerves. 

“Okayyyyyyyy,” Chloe muttered, and when she sipped again, the napkin stuck to the bottom of her glass. “You’re weirding me out, Beca.” 

At that, Beca sighed, and Chloe thought she’d start crying the minute Beca’s hand left the small of her back. “Right. Well. Yeah,” Beca scratched her head, squinching her face, “There’s probably a reason for that.” 

And Chloe thought,  _Oh shit._

And Chloe thought,  _Goddammit._

And Chloe thought,  _There’s not enough alcohol in this drink._

 _“_ So…Chlo…I was kinda thinkin’,” Beca started, twirling the ring on her thumb, “I mean, I don’t know about you, but I feel like things with us are different. And…I dunno…I just, um, I kinda realized that I don’t want you to be my girlfriend anymore.” 

And Chloe thought,  _I might actually throw up._

Beca was still avoiding looking at Chloe at all, glancing up from her hands only for a second to see Jesse in the corner giving her a thumbs up, and Chloe was sure her face was expression some mixture of the desire to punch something and crawl into a hole and die, so that when Beca finally  _did_ manage to glance at her, the almost-relieved grin on her face fell completely. 

Chloe watched the tape rewind in Beca’s mind, could almost see her mouth the words again, and when she finished reviewing her eyes went wide. She put her hands on the counter and turned to face Chloe head-on. “Shit, fuck,” she muttered, “That  _really_ came out wrong. Goddamn. That’s totally not what I…um…” She breathed, a quick but deep in and out before stilling her anxious tics and putting her hands on Chloe’s shoulders. “I’m an idiot. Mostly because I’ve been rehearsing this for days and then…like…yeah, I’m pretty dumb,” she nodded in a small conclusive way and then snapped her attention back to Chloe, who had, by this time, started to cry. “What I mean is that I don’t want you to be my girlfriend, ‘cuz, like, I kinda want you to be my wife? Which I know is crazy weird, like, you  _definitely_ think I’m on drugs or something, but I kinda realized it recently that, like, it really hurts me to think that you’re not already my wife? Am I insane?” 

Chloe stood silently, and somewhere in the back of her mind she registered that everyone in the room was silent too, turned to face them with various expressions of glee and pity for the way Beca was rambling. Not one of them looked surprised, and it occurred to Chloe that it actually  _was_ really strange for Aubrey to have a “I’m Glad the US Got Their Heads Out of Their Asses Party”, and why the eff was every single Bella in one room just ‘by coincidence’, and every song that was played tonight was part of a playlist Chloe liked adding to on Sunday afternoons when Beca fell asleep at her computer, and there was a bulge in Beca’s vest pocket, and she thought that maybe her broken expression suddenly hardened into one of shock and understanding, because Beca let out a nervous laugh. 

“I’m sorry,” she said weakly, her hands starting to flail, “Stace thought the whiskey would be a good idea but it’s kinda making everything a little fuzzy, although I think that might be because I feel like I’m going to pass out which is so totally not a big deal only you’ve been standing there watching me without saying anything for a while now and it’s sorttttt of getting hard to breathe here, Chlo.” 

Blinking, Chloe only managed to snap her mouth shut when Aubrey nudged her from behind, and after clearing her throat, she was only capable of a noise level slightly above a whisper. “What are you asking me, Beca?” 

Beca sighed, nodding and smiling. It was the cue she needed to get her speech back on course, and she was grateful for the way that the redhead managed to always keep her right on the track she was supposed to be on. It was kind of amazing that even in this, she held the roadmap. 

“Um, I might be asking you to marry me, Chloe Beale.” 

“Might?” 

“I mean, like, were you to be inclined to say no, then obviously I would switch gears and ask you if you wanted to try the guac, because it’s Ashley’s recipe, and it’s pretty good…You know, I spent weeks planning this and I kinda didn’t think we’d get this far into the conversation without you giving me a clear answer so…” 

Chloe smiled, putting her hand to Beca’s cheek in a way that seemed to literally  _pull_ the tension out of Beca’s face. “Okay, well let me help you plan the next part.” 

Beca squeaked out a “mm” and nodded, her eyes wide. “Because I’m thinking, in this next bit here, you kiss me. How does that sound?” 

Breaking into a smile bigger than her entire body, Beca jumped forward, holding Chloe’s face between her hands and standing on tiptoe to press her lips against hers. The silence of the roam erupted only after Amy shouted a victorious, “Aca-finally bitchesssss”, and Beca broke the kiss to giggle. 

“Um, that’s a yes, right?” 


	36. The One Where the Bellas Have No Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt where bechloe are dating very much in secret and the Bellas don't have a scooby until they over hear them fiddling with each other in the tent! — sent by anonymous

It’s not that there  _weren’t_ obvious about it, exactly. The Bellas would be lying if they didn’t categorize every move that Beca and Chloe made when they were anywhere near each other. 

Stacie wouldn’t deny that she had a virtual journal wherein she tracked the progress of their contact, from a begrudging hug at the third Bellas’ rehearsal freshman year - all stiff-limbs and uncomfortable faces by Beca, who, frankly, had been swarmed by Chloe when she proudly announced that she got the choreography right - to the slow allowance from Beca for Chloe to scoot closer in her chair, to the piggy-back rides she started to give the redhead when she was too drunk to walk. 

And Amy always very obviously nudged CR every time Chloe grabbed Beca’s hand to massage her palm and play mindlessly with her fingers, shooting Jessica wide-eyes that practically screamed “Lesbi-honest” when Chloe came into the kitchen and slapped Beca’s ass most mornings as a greeting. 

So the Bellas could see that there was a kind of shift occurring very slowly overtime. Not the original shift of reluctant discomfort (on Beca’s part) to puppy-dog-willingness, but a shift of nervous flirtiness into some kind of suggestive  _knowing._ Like instead of pretending they hadn’t met in the showers, they were suddenly in a permanent state of reminding each other with their eyes of that exact occasion. 

But no one said anything - least of all the two culprits - and the Bellas just assumed that this was yet another level of the ridiculous oblivious toners that the two girls were sporting for each other, not even bothering to question why Chloe - open, welcoming, unprivate Chloe - was suddenly locking her door in the middle of the day or why Beca only opened her phone when it was directly in front of her face and positioned in a way that no one looking over her shoulder could read what was written there. 

So when they filed into the tent, it was just accepted that Beca and Chloe would want to be near each other, would be whispering things to each other, would be trying to get to the bottom of whatever happened earlier that day before Beca got caught in the bear trap. 

When the whispers became rustles of sleeping bags, no one spoke up. 

And when Beca said, “No, Chloe, God this is  _so_ not the place,” no one spoke up. 

And when Chloe responded with another sleeping bag rustle and, “Becs, you’re so tense. Just loosen up,” no one spoke up. 

It took a hitch of Beca’s breathe and the muffled sounds of Chloe on her neck to finally send Stacie jolting up, tearing off her sleep mask to find the pair in the  _exact_ compromising position that she’d imagined they’d be in. 

And, sure, “Aha!” wasn’t the most mature thing to say upon seeing two girls partaking in a hot and heavy make-out session in the middle a tent filled with fellow acapella ladies - the finger that pointed at them victoriously could’ve not existed too - but it was enough to stir CR, who was very disgruntled at having been awoken. All it took was a glance at the couple - with Beca as red as Chloe’s hair, and overall demeanor more ruffled than any of the Bellas had seen it - for CR to mutter a “jesus christ, you all owe me five bucks” and Amy to put her hands up. “Caught ya,” she said under breath. 

Chloe was smiling from ear to ear, glancing at Beca while biting her lip and Beca only slapped her on the arm, throwing her head against the pillow and breathing out while shaking her head. “You’re all idiots,” she said, smiling when Chloe leaned over her and started to close the distance between them again. 

She stopped though, mid inhale, when Lilly said, loud enough for all of them to hear, “Get a room”. 


	37. The One With Spin the Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellas and trebles play spin the bottle. Beca lands on Chloe xD — sent by anonymous

“Wha – um,” Beca snaps her mouth shut, shaking her head and blinking. She looks to Jesse worriedly, throwing another “um” in his direction. “That’s…..” 

She looks down at the bottle, inspecting it from afar for any magnet or wires - some type of contraption that would’ve caused it to land directly on Chloe without faltering once. She doesn’t realize she’s reaching for it until she feels Aubrey’s cold hand wrap two fingers around her wrist. 

“Those aren’t the  _rules,_ Beca,” she says, her eyes hazy but stern. Beca’s sure that over the course of the past five minutes on the floor of the Trebles’ house her eyes have grown to be five sizes bigger. She’s not entirely sure what face she’s making, seeing as most of it is trying to hold up the doe-eyed expression that she can’t seem to wipe away. There’s a pulsing in her ears that makes it feel like the room is suddenly unbearably hot, and the circle of acapella singers around her seem to take on an almost sinister atmosphere. The feeling of being watched mixed with the cold sweat breaking down her spine make her think for a moment that she’s going to be sick. She can taste the cheap beer on her breath. It feels like it’s slithering up to her temples and making her lightheaded.

“Right, no, yeah, totally,” she says, swallowing and nodding nervously, “It’s just…like…”

“Alright, I’m not sitting squished between acapella twinkies like you just to watch this one stutter,” Bumper takes a sip from his solo cup, shaking his head, and talking to no one in particular. “You guys make me sad.” 

“ _You’re_ the one cradling Captain America and demanding we play a game from junior high school,” Amy mutters. She throws him a wink after she grunts a random, “Bumper likes porn.” 

“Hey…” As she is trying to count her breaths, entirely certain by now that the room had started spinning, she hears Chloe’s voice peak through. Bouncing off the shadowed walls of her skull is the image of Chloe when the bottle landed on her, the confident grin only slipping on after a flash of panic. Well, really, more of a  _flush_ of panic. 

Chloe puts her hand on Beca’s shoulder. She’s wearing a tank top, and the skin to skin contact makes Beca pull away on instinct. 

“We don’t have to do anything,” Chloe offers, “It’s a dumb game anyway.” 

And, sure, Beca isn’t positive why she has such an adverse reaction to the bottle’s placement, or why the minute she spun it there was this no-destination kind of hope - like the feeling was building into a wave but it was willing to just stand there until it figured out it’s complete purpose. She knows that somewhere inside the buzzing in her ears, there are supposed to be thoughts responding to these physical reactions. But either she doesn’t want to think them or she doesn’t know where and what they are, so she focuses again on her breath and on the eye contact that Chloe is gives her - eyes that say she won’t be disappointed, it’s just a game, and, also, I love you in any way you’ll let me. 

She thinks - she’s pretty certain, actually - that there’s only one universe wherein she would follow the bottle’s directions. And that’s the universe where Chloe bits her lip nervously, the tiniest of hints that she’s feeling even an ounce of the panic that Beca is. Her eyes break away from Beca’s, and she leans back down in her cross-legged position, taking a breath and looking totally away. Beca can see it - that feigned casual response that she’d spent her whole life trying to master. She knows that beneath it is something akin to what is beneath hers. 

That’s why, just as the circle concludes that Beca’s presence isn’t much needed if she’s not going to participate, Beca lurches forward, over the center of the circle where the bottle sits and latches onto Chloe’s head, tangling her hands in Chloe’s hair and bringing their faces together so that their noses are touching. 

“A room full of people and instructed by a bottle,” Beca whispers just loud enough for Chloe to hear, “Is this what you want your first kiss to be?” 

She wants to lighten the mood, to make things easier for both of them to look at each other tomorrow morning. The three day grace period it took for Beca to not downright blush every time she saw Chloe after the shower incident was ridiculous. And if she could do better to lessen that “shit you’re walking down the hallway and I’ve seen your boobs” kind of feeling, then she  _would_. And she  _is_ , because Chloe laughs, pushing one of Beca’s hairs back. 

From behind them, Amy clears her throat. 

“I’ll be gentle,” Chloe said with a wink, and she leaned in closer, just enough this time to press her lips to Beca’s - mastering what happens on the border line between chaste best friend kiss and  _so much_ more. And Beca thinks this might be the best dumb game she’s ever played.


	38. The One Where Beca and Jesse are in Cahoots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Chloe got jealous how close Jesse and Beca became but in all honesty Beca is just helping Jesse to get a date with Aubrey and when Chloe eavesdropped she heard them talking about their crushes (Beca about Chloe and Jesse about Aubrey) — sent by anonymous
> 
> I distinctly remember falling asleep whilst writing this

“So, like, this shit is real,” Chloe heard Beca mutter from the thin dorm door. Her knuckles were raised in front of the door, ready to knock, until she heard the conversation on the other end. There was a stressed smile pressed into Beca’s voice, maybe a touch of teasing. Chloe’s surprised when it’s met with the chuckle of a dude.  

“Dinner and a movie and maybe a few future aca-children real, yeah.” The voice sounded familiar, and somewhere in the faded edges of Chloe’s memory she remembers hearing that same voice shout something about being king of the world at hood night. A Treble-maker for sure, and Chloe thinks she’s pegged him – all generic striped shirts and school-boy grin. 

“What about you? Like…how do you feel about it all?” the boy – Jesse, she remembered – asked. The walls weren’t so thin that Chloe could hear Beca sigh, and she hadn’t known the girl for longer than a month and a half, but already she could predict her responses. She could see the smaller woman press the back of her head into the metal barred headboard. She could hear her let out a breath. 

“Scared, mostly.” Beca’s voice was small, and Chloe realized she couldn’t yet predict everything. “I mean, you’re so sure. And I’ve…I’ve just never felt this way, yunno?” 

Chloe took a breath. She hadn’t moved her hand from it’s pose for knocking, and with the emotional confession she’d become aware of how creepy this could become. The conversation had a clear trajectory, and she’d been there enough times to be familiar with it. One month into freshman year…it made more than enough sense. Meet the  _literal_ boy next door. See him around (Beca would complain to Chloe about how he ‘made her look small’ in front of Luke at the station, so she knew they saw each other then. Well, that and every Wednesday night they had dinner out on the quad together. Only, Beca didn’t tell Chloe that one). Confess feelings for boy in an emotional dorm room scene in the middle of the day. Kiss boy. Have boy’s ‘aca-children’. She’d watched enough of the first two steps, and had just now heard enough of the third step, to not want to stick around for steps four and five. 

She told herself it was out of her respect for privacy that she stepped away from Beca’s door at that moment. All the while, she conveniently forgot about the utter lack of respect for privacy it takes for a person to barge in on someone’s shower and demand they sing her lady jam. Because her hands were in fists the entire time she eavesdropped, and it wasn’t because she was frozen mid-knock. 

–

“She’s gonna get treble-boned, Bree,” Chloe paced the immaculately clean floors of Aubrey’s bedroom, not seeming to make a dent in the vacuum tracks left there. “It’s going to happen. I heard it.” 

Aubrey watched when Chloe stormed through her room, immediately picking up on her nervous pacing habit, but she held her hand out, signaling for the redhead to stop. 

“Okay, slow down,” Aubrey said, taking breaths as if through a straw to demonstrate. “From the beginning.” 

“I was going to go over to Beca’s because I wanted to see if she wanted to get coffee before rehearsals because that’s what we normally do and we’ve never done any differently only this time it  _was_ different because she was with someone and it wasn’t me it was him it was the treble he was in there and they were talking abo–” 

In the upper side of Aubrey’s vision, she watched her own battery level die trying to keep up with Chloe’s words, which, at this point, were spewing out at such a fast velocity and high pitch, Aubrey thought they cracked the code for speaking to aliens. When she grabbed Chloe by the wrists, tugging forcefully, she managed to get the woman to stop talking long enough for Aubrey to process. 

“Which boy,” she said finally when she was all caught up. Chloe looked to be on the verge of tears, which, again, was due to the future of the Bellas being in danger and nothing at all related to how much she was looking forward to their weekly coffee date. How much she needed it. How she’d skipped her necessary morning cup because she got jittery with too much caffeine but despised the slight critical eye Beca gave her when she ordered decaf. 

It was not at all related to any of that. This was Bellas business. 

“Jesse,” Chloe seethed, nearly breaking out in a cry. She heard the conversation in her head – She heard the way Beca’s voice was so filled to sincerity that it broke. She heard the way it was so scared by it’s complete certainty. 

For a moment, she let herself think:  _I want that to be about me_.  

Lost in her own thoughts, Chloe missed the flicker of urgent fire sparking in Aubrey’s eyes at the name. “Th…The freshman?” she said, her demeanor not as steady as usual. “I said it from day one, Chloe. These aca-people are threats. Threats to our eyes, threats to our hearts, and most importantly threats to our excellent vocal prowess. They use emotional channels to reel us in and before we know it BAM,” Chloe jumped at the loud noise, but Aubrey thought it felt good. “I’m talking to Beca about this at rehearsals today.” 

Chloe tried her best not to smile. It was passed off as a cheerful shrug, which was casual enough. “I think that’s a good idea.” 

–

“Becs, what the hell were you just doing?” Chloe stage-whispered as Beca half-walked half-jogged from the middle of the sidewalk where Jesse stood with a bouquet of flowers. Aubrey was set to come out of class anytime soon, and she was almost positive that the wrath of Aubrey wouldn’t be pleased with alt girl getting all Valentine’s-y with a Treble in public. “You know the rules. Bree’s going to kill you. Worse, she’s going to bury you alive. Worse, she’s go–”

“Okay, god,” Beca threw a hand into Chloe’s face in exasperation. “Chill with the varying death threats, Chlo. They’re not original, but they’re so plentiful in that pretty head of yours that I should be more concerned.” 

Chloe smiled, unable to stop herself. She linked arms with Beca and starting swinging their hands. 

“Um, so you weren’t just standing out of Aubrey’s class with your boyfriend? Who happens to be a treble?” 

Beca’s hands stopped swaying immediately, her eyes shooting to Chloe’s. The redhead thought that she felt a tightening grip on her hands but she wasn’t sure. Her imagination had proven to be more than active as of late. 

“My boyfriend?” she sputtered, blinking. “Um, what?” 

Chloe released Beca’s hands then, putting hers on her hip. “Oh please, Beca. We’re not dumb. You and Jesse are dating an–” 

“God, fuck no!” Beca said quickly, backing up. It was an instinctive reaction, and she rethinks it immediately. “I mean. No. No we’re definitely not an aca-item.” 

The small woman winced at her own pun, more than slightly ashamed. Chloe didn’t notice, though, lost as she was in her own series of calculations. If Beca was telling the truth, then she’d misinterpreted things greatly. 

“But, no, that doesn’t make sense,” Chloe muttered, going back into her pacing mode. “Because I went to your room a few days ago and I heard you guys talking about feelings and…”

“Yeah, feelings for other people!” Beca shouted, holding her hands out. Almost immediately, she realized her mistake, pushing down from her tiptoes and shoving her hands in her pockets. Suddenly, she looked very shy. 

“I don’t get this, Becs.” 

Beca swallowed, nodding. “Yeah, I didn’t think you would. At least not at first. Um…” she tried her best to be the confident Beale-like self that the Bellas were training her to be. So she stepped forward, talking Chloe’s hand again. “Jesse is standing in front of  _Aubrey’s_ class with a bouquet of flowers.” 

They looked behind themselves to see him, whistling as he waited for Aubrey to get out of the conversation she was having with the professor. 

“Oh God,” Chloe said, putting her hand to her mouth. She didn’t know how she’d gotten it  _that_ wrong. Then, she remembered the other party. “But you, um….like what about you…with the feelings….” 

Beca smiled, watching Chloe’s slight blush and letting it pour confidence over her. “I’m saying I have a crush,” Beca said, leaning even closer to Chloe, “And it might be on you and I might want–”

Her speech was interrupted by a terrible rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody ( “No part of that fucking song is romantic, Jess,” she’d said when he picked it out) to a very stunned, but very wide-eyed, Aubrey Posen. When he finished the song, she pulled him up by the collar ( “Nice call with the shirt, Becs” he would say later) whispering in his ear. 

“She said yes, guys!” Jesse screams with his hands pumped up in fists, “She said yes to a dinner and a movie!” 

“So that’s what we were working on,” Beca answered when she pulled her gaze from Jesse dancing in the quad to Chloe.“That day when you heard us.” 

Chloe took a deep breath, nodding. They both stood there, avoiding eye contact, with their hands on their hips like two proud fathers not paying attention to their sons’ basketball game. Then, Chloe huffed out a breath, grabbing Beca suddenly by the shoulders. “Guess it’s your turn now.” 


	39. The One With the Little Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say that your minfics make me happy :) If you have time, can you write one where Beca secretly does little things that make Chloe happy but one day gets caught? — sent by anonymous

If anyone were to ask Beca Mitchell why she was spreading avocado on a wheat bread sandwich at three in the morning, she would deny vehemently the possibility that she was making that sandwich for her girlfriend, who loved shit like avocados and wheat bread, but never had time to make herself lunch before her 8am class. In fact, she would probably claim that she was acting in an impressively strong bout of sleepwalking. Because she hates avocados, wheat bread, and being “an adorable romantic”, but she loves Chloe Beale. 

And in all the ways that her love was this overwhelming, overpowering boulder of  passion, it was also an inherently subtle, quiet pebble – sometimes it knocked her over (or slammed her against the wall), but during the monotonous minutes of most of the day, it just drove her to do things that would make the redhead smile. Where Beca was weight and angst and frowns, Chloe was light and ease and grins. Sure. But no one knew the behind the scenes – No one knew how Beca fed off of Chloe’s light, or how when she saw the redhead smile she understood why people watched puppy videos on Youtube for entertainment. She existed in the eyeliner and ear spiked appearance of black, but she  _lived_ in the polka dot blue and soft pink of her girlfriend. 

So, months ago, she started an experiment to see if Chloe’s smile felt better to Beca if she was the cause. 

She wore the light blue dress that Chloe picked out for her to a party because “it was the only thing she could find in her closet”, and Chloe squealed, clapping her hands when Beca emerged from the bathroom donning it. 

She woke up five minutes early to put on a pot of tea before rushing to her 8am, so Chloe would wake up at 8:10 with a steaming mug of Earl Grey. 

She spent two hours looking for the ring Chloe lost months ago, finding it nudged in the grating of their shower door. 

And she swore, though she was nearly always out of the house when Chloe found these things, that she could  _feel_ when the other girl smiled. It sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. 

Growing bolder, she skipped her Ethics class to build a blanket fort, stringing the Bellas Christmas lights through the structure and leaving a note that said, “Enjoy the clubhouse. <3 Your Secret Admirer”. 

She spent what should have been quality Bella Bonding Time glued to her computer so that when Chloe had to go to the eye doctor the next day, there’d be a mix on the driver’s seat with the words, “Click it or Ticket, Beale <3 Your Secret Admirer”. 

She even walked to the post office in town with a decorated envelope in her hand, addressed to the exact place she’d just come from, because she knew Chloe loved nothing more than receiving mail. “Consider this a love letter,” it said on the post-it inside with three Big League Chew bubble-gum pieces inside (which,  _ew…_ But whatever made Chloe happy). 

It was almost addicting. She’d bite back her grin when Chloe asked, nuzzling into the other girl’s neck or taking another bite of dinner, but there would be a flush rising up on her cheeks and a twist to her stomach. Then, without fail, like a fly to a light, she’d be drawing up plans for the next Little Happiness. 

“What’re you doing?” she hears Chloe padding through the kitchen, concern taking a backseat to the feeling of “Why am I up at 3am”. 

Beca looked up from where she was drawing circles on the edges of Chloe’s most recent note, scrambling to hide it under her arms. Her eyes grew wide. “What’dyou mean? I’m not doing anything. What’re you doing?” 

Chloe raised an eyebrow at her, holding up the glass of water in her hand like it was obvious. 

“Right,” Beca said, slouching. The card was still hidden under her arm, so she started doodling in the red marker on the inside of her knee. When she saw a perfectly manicured hand reach out for the marker, she jumped. Chloe pressed a hand to her shoulder to calm her down. 

“Jesus, you’re jumpy,” Chloe said, beginning to trace the same swirls as Beca, darkening the red. Beca just groaned, moving to put her elbows on the countertop. The card dropped to the floor. 

“Shit,” Beca said quickly, moving to get it but ultimately losing to the redhead. Chloe smirked at the red around the edges, pursing her lips. 

“And what, pray tell, is this?” 

Beca pressed her lips together, shaking her head. “I’ve got no idea. Zero idea. Totally not related to me.” 

 Chloe laughed at Beca’s denial, and Beca was lost in it more than she ever got lost in her smile. 

“Beca Mitchell,” Chloe said, her grin growing wider than the Cheshire Cat’s. She stared walking forward, trapping Beca in her barstool at the counter. Because if there’s one thing Chloe was good at – had learned how to be good at at a young age – it was knowing who she had at her grasp. Beca wasn’t the first person to find some enjoyment in her giddiness. She’d been to high school for long enough to know the power of her smile. Only, Beca was the first person to deny the things she very clearly did (they were the only people living in the Bellas house that summer, goddammit, and it’s not like Mr. Bugles – Chloe’s stuffed pig – wrote out the sign that he held which said “Have a Great Day, Nerd”). 

Her nose was touching Beca’s now, but her grin still played on her face. “Would you, by any chance, be my secret admirer?” 

Beca breathed out, looking down at Chloe’s lips while smiling. “Depends who’s asking.” 

Chloe hummed, putting a hand on Beca’s hip. “That would be your girlfriend.” 


	40. The One With the Bear Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will you write one where Chloe gets picked up in a bear trap and ends up hurt? pretty plz plz plz — sent by anonymous

It happened within half a second. In one moment, Chloe was standing in front of Beca, her eyes blazing and her cheeks red with anger that had been bubbling around for a year and frustration that had been bubbling around for about four years. In the next, she was storming off, stomping her feet in the leaves like a toddler sent to her room, then being swooped up by the bear-trap with a snap and a scream. 

“Fuck,” Beca muttered, taking a second to fully respond to the situation. “Fuck,” she said louder, and she moved to the tree that the net was hanging from. It was dark - the Bellas had gone to sleep an hour ago, and after Beca rejected Chloe’s strange proposition, the redhead had stormed outside with Beca chasing after - so Beca could barely differentiate between the trees and the net and the shaking pile of red and pink and navy blue that was Chloe. 

“…Chlo?” Beca said, uncertain. She put her hand on her forehead, like a visor over her eyes, as if it would help her see better. She heard ruffling and the panicked squeaks of a worried Chloe. 

“Beca, Beca,” amidst the dark shapes, two fingers peeked out, hanging over the netting. “Beca,” Chloe was worriedly chanting Beca’s name on every exhale, her throat shaky. 

“Hey, I’m here,” Beca responded, “I don’t exactly see you, but I’m here.” 

“What?” Chloe stopped her breath-chant, her ruffling stalled. “Beca Mitchell, I swear to God, if the fact that you didn’t bring your glasses on this trip because you wanted to seem badass gets me dead in a bear trap…”

“Okay, no, that’s not gonna happen,” Beca tried to calm Chloe down, but it was hard when they were separated. Chloe needed Beca’s hand on her shoulder, running lines up her back. She needed her forehead under her chin, her breath on her chest. Chloe was a physical person, and with eyes like mood rings, Beca could  _see_  the relief a comforting touch could give her. Now all she had was her voice. 

The branch Chloe hung from let out a snap, and the net got lower to ground as Chloe screamed. Beca - though she wouldn’t admit it when asked later - screamed at the same time, her hands pressed to her mouth. She saw the net move again, followed by Chloe’s scared sobs. “Please, Beca, please, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

“Chloe, it’s fine,” Beca said, “You’re gonna be fine. I fell from there earlier today, and I’m alive.” 

She heard Chloe’s shaky breaths, her quiet sobs. “Right,” was all she said, and it sounded like she didn’t believe it. 

“What’re you sorry for?” Beca wondered, looking up at the net. Chloe’s sobs stopped for a second, and she filled the silence with sniffles instead. 

“What?” 

“You’re sorry. But, like, for what? I was the one who kept the whole intern thing from you…”

The branch snapped completely, then, hurtling the net and Chloe to the ground. Chloe screamed the entire way down as Beca shouted, “Fuck”. She hit the floor with a thud, wincing. 

“Chlo,” Beca was at her side within a second, hands pressing the other girl’s cheeks, “You good?” Slowly, Beca’s eyes roamed over the other girls, checking every muscle with a hesitant poke or caress. Chloe sat up, holding her head. 

“Um,” she closed one of her eyes, trying to press the two Becas she saw into one person. There was a pounding in the back of her head, and fireworks were punching into her vision. The rest of her body ached, but her head felt cold, and she pressed it to Beca’s shoulder without thinking. “Ow,” she said, her voice finally cracking into a cry, “Ow, ow, ow, Beca.” 

Beca ran her hands over Chloe’s hair carefully, holding the girl closer to her. “Shh, shhh,” she said soothingly, “Shhh. It’s gonna be okay.” 

They sat like that, Chloe crying over the pain that came with falling from a tree and the pain that came with another year gone by being held together by the woman holding her now - the woman who did not know how much she meant to Chloe. She felt nauseas, dizzy, and the words that were rolling through her head were fuzzy around the edges. She took a deep breath. The redhead pulled away after a few minutes, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. 

“So,” she said, her voice tired. As she spoke, she realized that her tongue felt drunk. The words were coming out before she could censor them. “I’m pretty sure I’m concussed. But before we get help, I want to use my head injury to tell you something. A) Because it means if you don’t like what I have to say, we can pretend it was the whole concussed thing and B) Because I might only be able to say this with blunt head trauma.” 

Beca, confused and concerned, bit her lip to keep from interrupting. She couldn’t help herself though. “We should really get you help…”

“Just wait a second,” Chloe snapped, taking a breath to calm herself. “Um. Okay. So. I said I’m sorry, because…I mean…Well, for four years, I’ve been thinking about something, and it’s really not fair to you. Or to Jesse. And so I’m sorry about that.” 

“Chlo,” Beca said carefully, taking on a tone meant for four year olds, “You’re not making any sense.”

Chloe pressed her hands to her head, “I’m concussed! What’d you expect?” 

Beca bit her lip, still not understanding. She nudged Chloe’s knees with her heel. “I can’t accept your apology without understanding what it’s about, Chlo. So. Maybe we can get that head looked at and then –” 

Her words were cut off suddenly by Chloe’s lips pressed against hers, tasting like marshmallows and campfire and tears. Without realizing it, Beca leaned in, kissing back, before stopping herself and pulling away. 

“What was that?” she asked the minute their lips parted. Chloe smiled, though it was a little loopy, Beca could tell. She shrugged. “That was what I was sorry for,” she said simply, holding her hand out for Beca to help her stand up, “And what I’d been thinking about for four years.” 

Beca didn’t know what to do or what to say - she didn’t even really know how she felt about the entire situation, though her lips still buzzed from the contact. It was well past midnight and they were working on dinners of marshmallows and beans, after an entire day of acapella bootcamp and falling from a tree. So she didn’t really have the power to figure out the things that started to blur in her mind’s eye. 

She determination, like usual, to stall for time with a wry grin and a sarcastic tone. “Nothing like a little head injury to get you in the  _mood_.” 


	41. The One(s) With the Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of prompts regarding beach and fun times.

“You’re staring,” Chloe grinned, winking at the way Beca’s closed her mouth incredulously and blushed, “Which is totally okay, by the way. I’m pretty confident about all of this.” 

When she said it, she wiggled her hips up from her position, stomach-down, on the towel in the sand, and Beca just scoffed, continuing to fiddle in the sand. 

“You’re insane,” Beca muttered, leaning forward in her tiny walled circle of sand to take another bit off the edge. Though, Chloe was right. 100% right. Donned in a mint green suit that covered everything  _just_ enough to be considered acceptable by the lifeguard sitting nearby. Although with the way Chloe looked, glistening with the tanning lotion she’d put on and practically  _roasting_ in the sun, Beca assumed the lifeguard wasn’t having any complaints. 

“I’m not the one trying to re-build the Great Wall, Becs,” Chloe murmured from the towel. Beca only grunted, peeling back another layer of sand. Because, honestly, Chloe Beale was lying next to her in a bathing suit, winking and smiling and wiggling her hips, and if Beca didn’t keep her hands busy, so was going to say or do or  _think_ something she’d regret. Which was why she was digging rather vigorously, hitting a small puddle of water within a few minutes. She sank into it, reveling in the cold feeling of the water. 

It took her a moment to realize that the hole had suddenly become darker, colder, and when she looked up, Chloe’s face had replaced the sun. 

“What’s up, dork?” Beca asked, grateful for the way the walls covered the sweat that was falling from her collarbone. 

“It’s hot,” Chloe answered, her finger brushing over the wall before Beca rushed to push it away - only a little pressure would send the whole thing into ruins. 

“It’s a beach,” Beca answered simply, moving to widen the hole. She heard Chloe tsk in frustration. “Right,” Chloe said, “It  _is_ a beach. And you know what people do at beaches?”

“Leave humble hole-diggers in peace?” 

Chloe hummed. “Swimming.” 

Beca shuddered at the word - so far, she’d gotten away with wearing her t-shirt over her bikini, and the water, though cold, would mean taking that off, would mean facing Chloe’s ridiculously frequent touches more-than-half-nude. But Chloe was looking at her with such blind enthusiasm, and Beca knew, then, why she found children so scary - because if their eyes were as wide as the redhead’s, then they could very well have the power to convince Beca of anything. 

“Let me hop out,” was all Beca said in response, feeling Chloe’s absence as she tried to pull herself out of the hole. The struggle was laughable, and if weren’t for the way that Chloe sounded when she was trying to hide her laughter, Beca would be more irritated. It  _was_ funny, though. She’d dug her own grave (which, wasn’t a very thinly veiled metaphor for this entire trip, as she  _knew_ agreeing to a beach vacation with her best-friend-turned-mind-numbing-crush was most definitely going to be the death of her). 

Chloe helped her out, of course, grabbing her by the hips from where Beca was clinging to the edge of the hole, and lifting her up, her thumbs brushing over the bare-skin right above her hipbone. And,  _jesus_ , she had to be more than half nude  _now_  after  _that_ after the feel of Chloe on her and the victorious little nuzzle she gave when Beca got out of her safe place? 

The risk, Beca had learned after she slipped the shirt off to reveal an old-fashioned red two-piece, was kind of worth it, though. Because as she walked into the water, Chloe was staring at her in the same way she no doubt was staring at Chloe earlier in the day. 

“You’re staring,” she said, and, even though she couldn’t pull off the wink or the hip wiggle, it still made Chloe blush, which was a victory in and of itself. 

 

\--

 

“No,” Beca warned, holding out her pointer finger in a way she immediately regretted because she could practically  _see_ her mother inside of that action, but Chloe had that mischievous grin on her face and she was sinking lower into the water so that all that was above the waterline was her eyes and that adorable forehead scar. “Don’t you dare.” 

And, despite the harshness behind the words, Beca was smiling too, which Chloe considered the perfect cue to shoot a perfect stream of salt water from her mouth onto the other girl, who squealed and threw herself under the water. When Beca was certain she was safe, she popped back up, her mouth open in fake anger. 

“Chloe Beale, you’re going to fucking regret that,” she threatened, scooting closer to Chloe and shaking her head. The fact that she was treading water where Chloe was comfortably standing on the sand was not lost on Chloe, and briefly, she smiled at that. Small, pleasantly irritated Beca  _was_ one of her favorite Becas. 

“Oh, am I?” 

“Hell yes,” Beca muttered, now very close to the redhead, and Chloe watched as her act faltered for a minute, her eyes nervously darting at Chloe’s lips when she put her hands on the other girl’s shoulders before she smiled that threatening grin and raised one eyebrow. The whole thing threw Chloe for a loop, knocked her off her confident, playful pedestal and made her brink nervously a few times. Which gave Beca the perfect opportunity to press down on the other girl’s shoulders, putting all her weight on Chloe’s body so as to dunk her under water. 

Only Chloe’s feet were latched into the sand, and, really, considering Beca never did a day of Bellas cardio in her life whereas Chloe willingly woke herself up before dawn to run, it shouldn’t have been surprising when Chloe didn’t budge under Beca’s antics. Still standing straight without strain, Chloe’s nose was nose pressed into Beca’s chest, and she felt it vibrate when Beca yelled, “What the fuck are you, the Hulk?” 

Her cheeks were more than flushed, because the girl’s suit looked great from far away and she  _did_ enjoy the way it made her feel when she looked at it, but up close - this close - Chloe didn’t think she could breathe, didn’t think she should be responsible for anything her mouth (which was less than a half an inch away from Beca’s skin) was going to do in this proximity,and she cursed herself because apart from the blushes she garnered from Beca and the confidence-boosting stares, this beach trip might not have been the best idea after all. 

To save herself from the embarrassment that would result in Chloe involuntarily indulging in about every fantasy that was running through her mind right now, Chloe bent her knees, willing sinking into the water and jumping back up when Beca’s hands were off of her. 

“That went well,” Chloe teased, out of breath and trying to cover it. And, if Beca weren’t trying to stay afloat, Chloe knew she’d be crossing her arms in frustration. 

“Whatever, we can’t all have legs as long as yours,” she huffed, lowering herself to blow bubbles in the water. The sun was glinting off the water and shining on Beca’s face, and Chloe was blushing for entirely different reasons. 

“The sun looks good on you, Becs,” she said sincerely for a moment, wiping it away with a joking, “Maybe you should befriend it sometime and actually venture outside every once in a while.” 

Beca rolled her eyes, splashing Chloe with water before starting to swim back to shore. “Shut up. And thank you.” 

Chloe moved to catch up with her, and she felt the floor slope up. When she noticed Beca receiving her footing again, she linked her arms around the smaller girl from behind, and Beca squealed again when Chloe lifted her out of the water in a massive backward-hug (…Chloe _really_ loved that noise), twirling her around and settling her back on the ground with a smile and a nuzzle. 

“It’s a good day, Beca Mitchell,” she murmured, reaching out daringly to straighten the twisted bikini strap on Beca’s collarbone, but noticing the pink line already forming. “And you didn’t listen about the sunscreen.” 

 

\--

 

“Don’t you dare say it,” Beca warned, coming out of the bathroom. She was wearing a tank-top, and glaring out from the fabric was pink on all sides. Her nose was red and freckled, while her cheeks were lined in sun. Drying the last bit of ocean out of her hair, she glared at Chloe, who was biting back a smile. “Chloe Beale, I am in pain, and if I have to hear you say ‘I told you so’ then I will not be held responsible for my actions.” 

Chloe nodded, strapping on her shoes to distract her from the small, grumpy woman putting her earrings on in the mirror. Her favorite past-time was making Beca blush - the pink was always such a stark contrast against the untouched-by-the-sun (or anything other than the LED computer screen) skin she was used to facing. This, though, this was better than a blushing Beca, because this girl smelled like salt-water and had freckles peeking out over her shoulders. She was grumpy and tired, the sun sucked out her energy and left behind sore skin, but that only made her more adorable - and easier to tease. Standing up, Chloe slapped a hand against Beca’s back, smiling when Beca winced slightly. “What am I not allowed to say?” she asked innocently, moving to press dots of white into Beca’s pink back, “I didn’t think pink was your color, Becs.”

Beca rolled her eyes, turning towards her suitcase and muttering something to herself that Chloe registered as “Fuck you” or some variation thereof. She shrugged it off with a smile, looking at her watch. “Dinner?” 

Beca nodded, heading for the door. 

“I’m just saying, I don’t think I like eating Ariel’s friends,” Beca said, throwing her hands up in frustration. They were walking along the shore after dinner, Beca’s stomach still rumbling. “And what kind of restaurant doesn’t give you more than one bread basket, I really don’t understand.”

Chloe rolled her eyes, grabbing Beca’s hand easily. Beca leaned into it, thinking briefly about how surprised people would be to see Beca Mitchell, sunburnt, holding hands on a beach. When she painted the image in her head, even she didn’t think it was right. But Chloe’s hand was colder than hers and the wind of the waves made the night almost chilly, the sand damp between her toes. She felt salty and sweaty and dried up, but she felt clean. Comfortable. Irritable but comfortable. 

“You know you’re more adorable when you’re grumpy,” Chloe said, poking Beca’s side with her shoes. Beca only shook her head, refusing to let the blush on her cheeks push through her sunburn. 

“I’m  _not_ grumpy,” Beca grunted, only proving Chloe’s point, “And I’m not adorable.” 

Chloe hummed, moving to sit down on the sand and bring the smaller woman with her. “Whatever you say, Becs.” 

They sat in silence for a little bit longer, enjoying the sounds of the waves crashing. Beca reminded herself to try to find a track of the sound to blend into her next mix. Chloe always had a unique kind of smile when she could recognize that a mix was made for her ears only. It’d become Beca’s goal to see that smile as much as possible. 

“Beca?” Chloe cleared her throat. Beca looked up from where she rested her forehead on Chloe’s shoulder. “Um, you’re kinda warm. Like, really warm. Like, I’m kind of getting overheated…” 

“How do you think  _I_ feel,” Beca muttered, separating herself from Chloe quickly and running her hands over her own arms. Chloe was right, the pink skin was radiating heat. “Never thought you’d tell me to  _stop_ cuddling.” 

Chloe smiled, drawing in the sand. “And I never thought you’d let your pasty-ass in the sun for eight hours without sunscreen.”

“Who’re you calling pasty-ass?” Beca said, snapping Chloe’s bra-strap and hearing the other girl squeal. Chloe grabbed her arm in retaliation, but instead of inflicting pain, she just skitted her fingers over the skin. “Does it hurt?” 

“Fuck yes,” Beca groaned. 

“I have an idea,” Chloe said, biting her lip before dropping Beca’s arm. She stood up, tying her hair into a bun. “Come on.” 

Beca stood up, but she still wasn’t sure what Chloe wanted her to do, so she just threw a confused glance towards the redhead. 

“The sun’s not out,” Chloe said, “So the water’s cold now. Not ice-bath cold, but still…” She reached for the hem of her dress, lifting it up and over her body. The amount of skin shown as a result was nothing new to Beca - I mean, the swimsuit she’d been wearing earlier revealed even more (somehow), but she still gawked at the lines of the other girl’s body. In the moonlight, she spotted a glint in Chloe’s eye.

“Right,” she mumbled, trying to control her gaze. She started to unbutton her shorts, pulling them down and letting the tank-top follow. When she was done, Chloe smiled breezily - and Beca was surprised to see no wicked twist to her grin, just pure happiness, ease, and encouragement. Grabbing her hand, Chloe started racing towards the water. 

When the chill hit Beca’s skin, she let out an involuntary moan that Chloe immediately (possibly instinctively) winked at. She didn’t care too much, though, as she hadn’t fully realized how much she needed immediate relief. They waded as far from shore as they were comfortable with, and Chloe stopped, lifting her feet from the ground and pressing her head back. Measuring careful breaths, she started to float on the water. Beca watched her move with the slight current, watched the ridges of her body where water had puddled. Chloe started to hum, her eyes closed. Feeling almost as if her gaze was intruding, Beca looked away. She started to float too, closing her eyes and hearing the vibrations of Chloe’s song from beneath the water. Before she realized it, she was humming to, and the song was moving to the beat of the water that splashed in their ears. Chloe’s hand reached out towards Beca’s to make sure the distance between them wouldn’t grow too far.

Beca didn’t care much what they looked like, then, nearly naked in the ocean at night belting out a song on their backs like some romantic comedy/musical moment. Because she felt a burning pressure in her chest, and it wasn’t from her neglect of warnings to apply sunscreen. It was from the hand in hers, the voice that carried through the water waves, the skin that looked almost glittery in the moonlight. Beca felt like she’d taken the sun and thrown it into the water at night, and she had found it was almost more beautiful this way - muted and glowing and for-her-eyes-only. 

The beach wasn’t ever Beca’s choice vacation, but if Chloe asked again, she’d have her bag packed in seconds. 

 

\--

 

Beca was sitting pin-straight, an inch between her back and the cushions. Her lips were set in a tight line, determined not to complain about the pain that had erupted when she tried to lean back into the couch. Chloe knew Beca was in pain, but she couldn’t help smiling at how adorable the smaller woman looked, her arms crossed and her brow furrowed as she attempted to focus on the late night talk show. She tried to reach out and pull Beca into a hug, breaking the straight-backed posture (because, really, where was  _that_ when Aubrey demand they try walking with books on their heads to aid with poise). Beca, though, hissed, scooting away from Chloe’s hands immediately. “Ow, no, ow,” Beca said, pulling her legs up beneath her. “I mean,” she tried again, brushing invisible hairs out of her face, “I don’t like to cuddle.” 

Chloe poked her as lightly as she could. “Lies,” she hummed, “You  _love_ cuddling, no matter how much you deny it  _and y_ ou still hurt. No matter how much you deny it.” 

Beca grumbled something incoherent, her face becoming a scowl. Figuring it was better not to ask, Chloe scooted closer. All her moves were in slow-motion, and Beca watched them out of the corner of her eye. It reminded Chloe of the first few times they hung out, with Beca holding up all her defenses. The redhead had to plan out every touch and movement so as to not scare Beca away, like some kind of animal explorer approaching a lion. 

Except, Chloe knew that she’d invested enough time in Beca to feel comfortable at this stage in the game. Hell, she’d convinced the DJ to strip and swim in the water only hours ago. Lightly trailing her hand over Beca’s burnt arm, Chloe bit her lip. Beca was holding her breath, waiting for the pain of contact. The touch was careful enough to not elicit pain - instead bringing up goosebumps where it trailed. 

“Cuddling is the magic cure for sunburns, Beca,” Chloe said, feigning a tone of certainty and knowledge, “I’m really only trying to help you.” 

Beca rolled her eyes and grumbled, trying to lean into Chloe for the comfort she sought. Only, the pain rolled through again at the contact, and she pushed back. Carefully, Chloe pressed a hand on Beca’s back. The hand was cold, and Beca’s back was so hot it nearly blistered.

“Okay, okay,” Chloe said, standing up and straightening her running shorts. “I’ve got some Aloe, let’s go.” 

She watched Beca’s grip on the remote tighten, and Beca didn’t look up from the television screen. “Nope,” she said, “I’m just dandy. Don’t need it.” 

“Becs,” Chloe chided, tilting her head. “Swallow your pride and get on the bed.” 

Beca looked up, then, her eyebrows raised and her grin crooked. “Forward much, Chlo?” 

Chloe, who learned just as much from Beca as Beca learned from her, rolled her eyes and turned around. “I’m looking for my Aloe, and the time I turn around, you better be face down on the bed with your shirt off… _Don’t,”_ she said with her hand raised when she caught wind of a naughty giggle on Beca’s end. The room grew silent, filled only with the sounds of Chloe rummaging through her suitcase. Then, as she reached into her front pocket, she heard the couch cushions ruffle. When she stood and turned around, sure enough, Beca was on the bed, donning her sports bra and compression shorts. 

“Let’s get this over with, Beale,” Beca said into the pillow. 

“What’s the rush?” Chloe chirped, stepping onto the bed and resting on her knees. “Are we, I don’t know, in pain, maybe?” 

Beca groaned, waving her arm weakly. “Chop chop.” 

“You don’t want me to turn on some mood music?” Chloe joked as she poured the Aloe on her hands. 

“Yeah, d’you know David Guetta?” Beca mumbled sarcastically into the pillow, and Chloe’s laugh rang out like bells over the cicadas chirping outside. 

“You know I– _oh.”_ Chloe didn’t warn Beca when she touched her hand to Beca’s back, so the feeling of the Aloe sent visible shivers down Beca’s spine. The skin was so red it was nearly purple, and the four freckles dotting the expanse of her shoulders were haloed in a dangerous light pink. Chloe felt the gel turn from chilled to heated in a matter of moments after she ran her hands over the skin. She drew her hands down the center of Beca’s back, then back up, moving to press down on the tense muscles at the base of her neck. 

Without permission, Beca’s throat let out a groan. The sound jolted Beca awake, her eyes popping open. Chloe’s hands still for a fraction of a second - it was hardly noticeable. “Just don’t–,” Beca started, too tired to play, “Don’t say anything about that. Like, just keep going, pleas– _oh, Jesus.”_

Chloe grinned at the sound, taking a deep breath in to push away the effect each sound had on her. She played it off casually, moving her hands expertly and easily. Biting her lip, she braced herself, moving to put one knee on either side of Beca. “Arms out,” Chloe said, her voice quiet. Without question, Beca raised her arms over her head. Leaning forward, Chloe ran her hands up Beca’s bicep. It wasn’t a fair reach, but Chloe had to press her top half over Beca to get there, and she found herself kneading the muscles of her upper arms for entirely too long. “This is,” Beca stopped, taking in a sharp breath, “Ah, this is really, really good.” 

Chloe was warm, sweating, and she blamed the heat the coming off of Beca’s skin for it. She turned her body around, pressing down to the top of Beca’s thigh. The sunburnt woman let out a sharp moan, more jolting that the others, and Chloe’s breath hitched. Her heart was pounding outside of her chest, and her thoughts became flustered. When she reached the other leg and Beca let out a similar noise, Chloe instinctually stopped, jumping off the girl and standing up. Beca moved slowly, her eyes glassy but confused by the sudden stop. Trying to hide the shaking of her hands, Chloe wiped the Aloe off on a towel Beca had left on the floor. “Done,” she chirped, her voice cracking and her throat dry. She tried to smile, but it didn’t come as easily as it had before the massage began. Beca decided it was safer not to ask about Chloe’s strange behavior change. She hummed, reluctantly putting her shirt back on. “Okay, so, you were right. I needed that.” 

Chloe was running her hands over the lid of the Aloe, and she took a shaky breath to try to bring her normal, calm, collected self back. She giggled, scratching her forehead. “Yeah, Becs, I kinda noticed.” 

 

\--

 

her stomach, “Stop!” 

Chloe giggled, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes as she continued to move back in the water, letting her face disappear beneath it with only her eyes peeking out. Still, Beca could see through the water enough to spot the other girl biting her lip. 

“Chloe, come on!” 

Chloe dunked her entire head under water, moving like a bullet to skirt around Beca’s form until she popped up right behind her, her voice in Beca’s ear. “You scared?” 

Beca shivered despite herself, and though it was unbearably hot, goosebumps lined her shoulder. She blamed the less than lukewarm sea water. 

“N-no,” she stuttered under her breath, “I’m not…like…” 

Chloe’s head slipped more underwater, lifting up again only to squirt a mouthful of water onto Beca’s face. Beca let out a squeal, swiping at the water a few times before shoving Chloe’s shoulder. (Her very bare shoulder). 

“Ass,” she said quietly, but Chloe didn’t hear, walking out again into the place where the sand dropped off a bit. “Chlo, seriously, can we not?” 

“Beca, I’m only going to listen to you if you explain your request,” Chloe answered, her back to Beca. 

“I can’t…like…” 

“Can you not swim?!” Chloe spun around at the force of her own gasp, though the grin growing on her face was excited. 

“What? No! Yes! Chloe, I can swim,” Beca said, holding her hands up and daring to take another step forward. “It’s just that…um…I can’t exactly reach the ground…over there.” 

Chloe’s smile broke from excitement into pure glee, and she bit back her giggles as she swam over the Beca again. It was strange how comfortable she felt in the water, like it was more of a natural place for her than land, and Beca watched the smoothness of the her motions and couldn’t help but wonder if it were possible for humans and mermaids to swap genes. 

It would, at the very least, explain Chloe’s hair. And eyes. And…body. 

Lost in a train of thought with eyes zeroed in on where the sun was reflecting over the water, Beca jumped when she felt two hands on either side of her shoulders. “Jesu-Chloe, God, can you not?” 

Chloe blew bubbles in the water while laughing, maneuvering over to be in front of Beca, her arms around the other girl’s neck. “Sorry,” she said, then turned again, so her back was pressed against Beca’s front. 

“Uh, Chlo, what’re think you’re doing?” Beca felt Chloe’s hands reach for her knees, pulling them up to where Chloe’s hips were. Throwing a glance behind her, Chloe said easily, “Giving you are ride, silly. Now hold on tight, and pull my hair if you need to be lifted up to breathe.” 


	42. The One With the Cold Shoulder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe teasing Beca because she is ignoring her and turning beca on? :) — sent by anonymous

It began innocently enough. Chloe had a naturally flirtatious nature, and Beca was completely resistant (though her cheeks were humiliatingly responsive) to that particular brand of interaction.

Chloe played the game with everyone she knew, and she’d been playing it since before she was even aware that it was a game. It might have started in second grade, when she kissed Tom McVegh’s cheek after he gave her his elephant-shaped eraser. Or it started in fourth grade, when she sat on the woodchips in a crevice of the playground, telling a blushing Amy Valentine about what s-e-x was. Regardless, by high school she knew exactly what words to pair with winks and hip bumps to get any boy, girl, or - in some hilarious cases - teacher to stuttered and avert their eyes. She found that the responses she got were enough to spur her on until next time, like she was winning games that the other player didn’t realize was being played at all. 

Thus, when she met Beca during her first senior year, she realized that if she lived for the reactions of those she flirted with, she’d be practically immortal after just a month with the blushing, bumbling DJ. 

Except, after two and a half years with Chloe and the new challenge of living in a house with her, Beca recognized how much Chloe liked the reaction, how her blush seemed to light a new fire in Chloe’s eyes. Yes, after year two and a half, she’d learned the power of the verb “ignore”. 

“Pass the sugar, Sugar,” Chloe said, her voice low and her eyes sparkling as she stood pouring her coffee. Beca had just filled her own cup, and was accidentally backed into the corner of the kitchen by Chloe. She groaned at the nickname.  _It is entirely too early in the morning for this shit,_ she thought. Instead of reaching to get the sugar, she remained where she was at, sipping her coffee and then yawning dramatically. Chloe eyed her suspiciously. 

She noticed Beca’s recently changed strategy, saw the smaller girl visibly struggle to hide her reactions, and it stirred in her a new feeling. While she craved the feeling of triumph she had when she succeeded in making Beca as red as Taylor Swift’s lipstick, she found that this new sensation of challenge made the game significantly more fun. Chloe was forced to up the ante, push herself further, and she was certain when Beca surrendered the reward would taste even sweeter. 

She grinned at Beca’s dramatic yawn. Humming, she put her hand on the edge of the counter near Beca’s arm, using it for balance as she reached into the cabinet directly above Beca. She searched for the sugar for  _much_ longer than necessary, leaning forward even more so that she felt Beca’s nose almost pressed against her chest. When the smaller girl squeaked, she smiled. 

According to Beca, in that moment, absolutely no part of the game Chloe played was fair. Because two and a half years ago she saw Chloe  _nude_ in the shower, and there had been several more incidents after that, as Beca became  _very_ aware of how comfortable Chloe really was with “all of that”. And for some reason she couldn’t wipe away those moments from her memory as she stood their with Chloe’s button-up pajama chest shoved into her face. She smelled like sleep - the best kind of all-night, no-dreams, cuddled up sleep - and hand lotion. Pulling back was impossible against the counter, and if Beca didn’t get herself out of Chloe’s…spheres of influence…then she wouldn’t be held responsible for what else, besides the squeak, might come out of her mouth. She took a short breath, trying not to inhale the smell, and stood as straight as a wooden beam as Chloe kept looking. When she finally moved off her tiptoes and down to eye-level, Chloe still had her hand on the edge of the counter at Beca’s side. She was leaning still, her face close to Beca’s. 

“Just so you know, I love it when you play hard to get,” she whispered, winking. Turning back to her cup of coffee, she shimmied her hips a little before heading towards her computer on the counter. Beca didn’t realize how tight her grip had become on the mug. She counted to ten before moving, and then trudged up the stairs without a word. She tried not to notice how she couldn’t remember if she saw a wink or not because her eyes were too focused on the redhead’s lips. Yeah, she just tried not to think about that. 

–

“Mmm, I love a girl in uniform,” Chloe purred, her finger running up Beca’s collar under the pretense of straightening her tie. They were getting ready for their holiday performance, and Chloe smelled like hairspray and glitter. For a brief second, her thumb brushed Beca’s neck, and she thought she saw the smaller woman shiver. Beca’s eyes, though, were fixed straight ahead. Her jaw was set tight, like she was focusing on something. 

The game had lasted a few weeks, with Chloe getting riskier and riskier in her moves. A few of the Bellas had bets on who would out-last the other, and, though Chloe did appreciate the challenge, even she recognized that her game was getting  _too_ heightened, glossed over with frustration. And if there’s one thing she knew about this whole thing, it was that frustration coupled with competition was a nasty breeding ground for sexual tension. Which was, obviously, the one thing that could ruin a flirt like Chloe Beale. 

Chloe continued running her hand down Beca’s collar, stopping at the front and slipped her thumb under the button there. It popped, and the strain on the shirt lessened to reveal a larger fraction of Beca’s sternum. Beca bit her lip. 

“Oops,” Chloe said, feigning innocence, “Sorry bout that. Those buttons just look like they really need a break.” 

When she leaned forward to whisper in Beca’s ear, her lips brushed over the girl’s cheeks. She’d been wearing enough lipgloss that Beca knew there’s be a smear when they separated. “Let me know if you need help with that.” 

Beca’s hands were balled into fists - a detail Chloe noticed as she was turning away from the girl - and the minute Chloe left she took a deep breath. Her arms were shaking, and there was a twist to her stomach that scared and excited her. She felt Chloe’s hands still ghosting along her neck, along her front, and she sighed, shaking her head. 

She tried to comfort herself with the fact that at least she wasn’t blushing. Because that’s what this was all about anyway, right? 

 


	43. The One With Trumpets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bechloe prompt: Either Beca or Chloe starts jokingly singing "trumpets" to the other as they're getting ready for bed. Maybe they're drunk or on pain meds or something for extra loopiness, IDK. Relevant lyrics: "Every time that you get undressed/I hear symphonies in my head" and "Is it weird that I hearTrumpets when you're turning me on?/Is it weird that your bra/Reminds me of a Katy Perry song?" — sent by gohandinhand

“ _Every time that you get undressed, I hear symphonies in my head_ ,” Beca’s voice rang out over the silent staccato of cicada chirps outside, matching the tune of the dripping shower head. She sang it as she walked out of the bathroom, her head bopping to the inaudible beat in her mind while her hand clutched her towel close to her chest. “ _I wrote this song just looking at you, whoa oh ohhh_.” 

Chloe couldn’t hide her smile when she looked up from her reading glasses ( “I don’t like when you wear those,” Beca said after the first few times she’d slipped them on, “It makes me realize I might have a thing for librarians, and that’s  _so_ not a thing I want to admit to myself”), saving the page she was reading with her finger. 

Though Chloe didn’t know it when they first met, Beca rolled a lot of secret identities inside her small body, and uncovering those hidden gems had become something high on Chloe’s list of little happinesses. Over the four years they knew each other, Chloe waiting patiently, running her finger over the spine of Beca’s life book to coax the quiet parts of Beca out. She stayed warm when Beca was cold and soft when Beca was harsh, building this small piece of home between themselves where Beca felt comfortable enough to be her whole self. It was then that she learned Beca loved to bake, but never needed a recipe, trolling around the kitchen and making a mess until she concocted a chocolate lava cake that tasted like summer bonfires and Halloween and island getaways all in one. It was then that she learned that Beca made up her own stories about the constellations, sticking glow-stars to their ceiling in intricate patterns and regaling Chloe with made-up legends all night. 

One of her favorite secret Becas, though, was the one who liked to sing Ke$ha in the shower, and could, without hesitation, belt out Hillary Duff’s new single. As they shared the Bella house alone the summer before Beca’s senior year, Chloe watched Beca cast off the pretension that she could only enjoy the songs of unknown, up-and-coming “artists”, and the house became filled with the top 40 hits that Chloe filled her iPod with. What was amazing about this secret Beca, though, was that she took whatever bubblegum pop was playing on the radio, and she stripped it of it’s gaudy details. Where her mixes were smooth but overwhelmed with beats and auto-tuning, Beca’s personal renditions were stunning in their simplicity. Her voice was more than strong - it was haunting, mesmerizing, and capable of putting goosebumps on Chloe’s arm any day of the week. It took her five days to finally admit that Beca’s version of Trans Am nearly brought her to tears. 

This one was new, though. A fresh, new cover for Chloe to listen to. Beca stood by her dresser, looking for a sleep shirt. Chloe could see the rhythm of the song flowing over the smaller girl as neglected water droplets fell from her hair to her neck to the space between her shoulder blades. 

“ _Yeah the drums they swing low_ ,” Beca crooned, “ _And the trumpets they go na na nanana na, na na nanana na, na na nanana na, na na nanana na_.” 

Slowly, her hand still over her towel to cover herself, she slipped her underwear on. Then, making sure she was facing the wall, she let the towel fall. She was moving her hips slightly to the song inside her head, and the branches of her shoulder tattoo bent and curved with her muscles to dance to the music. The entire movement was subtle, but Chloe could see it in the definition cogs and gears of the smaller girl’s back, adorned with tattoos that Chloe hadn’t traced nearly enough. Beca sang the through the chorus, her voice echoing over the walls as water droplets bounced over the bumps of her spine. 

“ _Is it weird that I hear violins whenever your gone,_ ” Beca sang as she bent down to pick up the shirt she’d laid on her bed. “ _Is it weird that your ass reminds me of a Kanye West song?”_

Lifting her arms up, she slipped the over-sized t-shirt over her body, letting it dance somewhere at the top of her thighs. “ _Is it weird that I hear trumpets when you’re turning me on?”_

When she turned around, Chloe didn’t have the power or control to avert her gaze. She could see in the glassy haze of Beca’s eyes that the other girl had been lost in the nighttime routine and the easy beat of the song. That was another secret Beca that she lived for: the one that went into a spectacularly vast version of La-La-Land whenever a song was playing in her head. Her eyes were a dark, dark blue as it was, but music made them deeper, like jumping into them would allow you entire another plane entirely. 

Beca was ruffling her hair with her towel, trying to get as much water from it as possible. “ _Is it weird that your bra reminds me of a Katy Perry song?”_

Chloe uncrossed her legs, putting her book down on the nightstand and rubbing her eyes. The song was nearly over, Beca would leave her world soon and join her in this one, and she had to stop staring. 

Only, that was an extremely unfair request, because the only just way to force Chloe to stop staring would be to also force Beca to stop singing. Just as Beca entered a different world when there was a song in her head, Chloe entered a different world when Beca sang it. Her mouth was dry and the space between her temples hurt, and she felt impossibly tired and wildly awake at the same time. 

Beca dropped the towel on the ground (not the hamper, Chloe would’ve noted if she were fully functioning), tugging at the edges of her t-shirt before walking towards Chloe’s bed. “ _Every time that you get undressed, I hear symphonies in my head/ I wrote this song just looking at you/ And the drums they swing low.”_

The final note carried through the room, though it was soft enough to have been spoken. It sent an electric current with it, and the walls buzzed in response. Beca lifted Chloe comforter. “Scoot,” she said, poking Chloe’s side. Chloe, quiet because she doesn’t want to break the hum of the silence that followed Beca’s song, moved over easily, moving to wrap herself around the smaller girl. 

She breathed in the smell of Beca’s conditioner, twirling a wet strand of hair around her finger. Beca hummed contentedly, and Chloe smiled. Another favorite secret Beca was the one that couldn’t sleep without a cuddle. Though that took more than a little coaxing. 


	44. The One With the Polaroids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A minific about: Beca takes polaroids of Chloe when she's not looking. They're just pictures of her doing ordinary things, but Beca is filling an album of these polaroids to give to Chloe. — sent by anonymous

No matter who you asked, everyone could agree: Chloe Beale was beautiful. Beca made it her mission to capture that beauty. Not the beauty that came with the right knowledge of bronzer and color palettes and curling irons - not the beauty that accompanied knowing where to put your hands in pictures or how to smile with  _just_ the right amount of ease - but the beauty that came when Chloe didn’t realize anyone was looking. The small curve of her back when she was comfortable, and the way she stuck her tongue out when she focused. Or how, no matter how many times she did it, she always left the same strip of hair out when she tied it into a bun before bed. And how, without makeup, her cheeks were dotted in freckles that brought out the speckles in her eyes. 

She bought the Polaroid camera when she was thrifting with Jesse - one of his classic we-can-still-be-friends Saturday activities - and the entire project started accidentally. Fiddling with the edges of the camera, she slipped her finger over a button and the camera snapped. The angle was crooked, but Chloe had her feet tucked into the cracks of the couch, the tip of her index finger in her teeth. The light of the television screen hit the edges of her face perfectly, so that she almost looked like she was glowing. Her hair was braided from her mid-afternoon run and there were flyaways crowning her head. 

Beca kept the photo in her back pocket for the next few weeks, taking it out in the middle of class so many times that the edges were faded. 

So she kept it going, sneaking around corners in the morning or in the doorways before dinner to get another shot. Before she knew it, she had piles of the pictures, surprising herself occasionally with how  _well_ she was capturing the person who was, inherently, Chloe Beale. 

Her favorites included the one of her before rehearsals started, standing near the piano. She was scratching the side of her head, her lips pursed as she considered the melody they were going to review. She was focusing, her eyes clear and pointed, but there was an ease in her shoulders that came with music, with the familiar rehearsal space she’d learned to love. 

Then there was the one of Chloe before she officially got out of bed, scrolling through her notifications to prepare for the day. Sleep was still clouding the edges of her eyes, and her hair was piled messily to the top of her head. The side of her pillow had been pressed into her cheek, making it rosier, and there was a hesitance to facing the day that was adorable. 

Or the one that Beca thought might be her absolute favorite, with Chloe “sneaking” into Beca’s music mixing area (Beca had known she did that since the first time, after the Bellas performance freshman year that went painfully poorly). There was a glint of mischief in her eyes, which were widened with the thrill of a child who was doing something wrong. But she was biting her lip, and there was a rhythm to her body even though the photograph still her. She was in the middle of tapping her finger, in the middle of taking a breath, and everything hung inside that moment - that moment before the bass dropped. 

Beca wasn’t a scrap-book girl, and, if anyone suggested such a thing, she would deny it vehemently. But there was a photo album slipped onto their meager bookshelf - an album that went unnoticed by Chloe - filling up all too easily. The album changed names constantly. It started as “1 Reason Chloe Beale is Beautiful”, but eventually it became “32 Reasons Chloe Beale is beautiful”, then, “51 Reasons Chloe Beale is Beautiful” and so on and so forth. 

She would give it Chloe eventually. Of course. That was the plan all along. But for now, she resisted giving it away, showing it to the real world. Because for now, she had a compilation of all the Chloes that were just hers, secret and hidden and safe and more beautiful than anyone else knew. So she kept it to herself, for the time being, letting the album grow and grow. 

 --

Chloe had her toes tucked into the space between the headboard and the mattress, her face pressed into the bumps of her knees, and Beca asked what was wrong. 

“D’you think I’m ugly?” 

The words crashed down with a strange spiraling motion, circling around Beca until she forced Chloe to repeat the question. It seemed like the most ridiculous thing in the world - laughable, really, and if it weren’t for the trails of tears starting down Chloe’s cheeks, she would’ve said as much, rolling her eyes and saying something about how - with Chloe on her arm - she was the most envied girl at Barden. 

But Chloe was breathing unsteadily, the rims of her eyes pink, and Beca saw the way her bottom lip trembled. She thought, however inappropriately, that even now Chloe was beautiful. Sad and hurt and beautiful inside her web of insecurities. 

“Why would you say that?” 

Chloe prepared a list inside the cracks in her knees and the twisted lines of her palms. She started with the way her hair cowlicked in the morning, following with the uneven shape of her eyebrows and moving down to the miniscule softness that rested between her belly button and her hips. There were stretch marks on her chest and the insides of her thighs, and a scar on the outside of her knee that made the skin there pucker. Her toes were too long, and her ankles were too bony, and she could see it all wrapped up in skin that was too pink to be porcelain. 

And Beca could feel a heat start in her chest, pushing down to the tips of her fingernails. Because it hurt so greatly to hear the way the girl saw herself in the mirror, inspecting every inch of radiance and declaring it below average dysfunction. So she held her hand up to stop Chloe’s critiques, kissing the spot on her forehead where she felt off her bike when she was seven, then slipping off the bed and into the closet, standing on her tiptoes to get the photo album that was overflowing with polaroids. 

A few fell out as she brought them over to the bed, but she left them there like a trail leading her to where she kept this part of Chloe hidden, just in case they needed to travel back. The cover was filled with crossed out numbers, starting with 32 and ending with 202 Reasons Why Chloe Beale is beautiful. 

Chloe’s fingers stretched out over the “x”s on the cover, running over every one of them before opening the book. 

Page one had a picture of her curled up after her shower, a towel riding up on her thigh as she sat in a fetal position to paint her toenails. The edges of her hips where outlined by the white material, and her legs looked pent up - like springs waiting to be let out and jump. She was glaring at the camera, a smirk on the side of her face, and her eyes busted without the cages of eyeliner to hold them in place. 

Next to it, she was fumbling with the laundry, picking up the lint from the dryer and pulling a face of disgust with her two fingers holding the mess cautiously. 

“I can’t…Chloe, I,” Beca paused, pushing a red hair out of Chloe’s face, “I literally cannot fathom how every day you get more beautiful. So stop, because it’s not fair for the rest of the world to have you think anything different.” 


	45. The One With Drunk Beca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was wondering if you could do one where Beca and Chloe are rooming together and Beca is drunk and says I love you Chloe and kisses her and ya — sent by anonymous

“Why’re you knocking, you goof? You live here,” Chloe said when she opened the door to find Beca on the other side. The smaller woman was smiling wide, leaning against the door frame and trailing her fingers up the hinges. Her makeup, already heavily applied, was smeared, while her skin maintained the thin layer of sweat that comes from college parties.  

“Chlo-eeeee,” she said, trying to stand up straight. She wobbled, stepping back to catch herself as her eyes went wide. “Whoa.” 

Chloe tried to cover her grin; it took a lot to get Beca Mitchell drunk, but when she managed it, the small bundle of angst and eyeliner became a sort of cartoon character. In the quiet moments of their friendships, Chloe became starkly aware of how much emotion could be found in Beca’s blue-black eyes. She wore such a heavy mask to cover up the fact that she was really an open book. When she was drunk, however, the emotions that passed on her face were humorously dramatized.  

Chloe put her hands on Beca’s shoulders, steadying her. “Had a little bit of fun with Amy, huh?” 

At Chloe’s touch, Beca gave into her loose limbs, using Chloe as a balancing pole. She reached up to twirl Chloe’s hair on her index finger. “Shelikestoparty,” Beca slurred, ending with a giggle. 

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Chloe hummed, pulling Beca closer to corral her into their room. She’d skipped Amy’s traditional Wednesday-night-out in favor of the psyche notes she’d avoided all week. Though her schedule allowed for two hours of Bella Bonding time, she knew what kind of mornings resulted from Amy’s ideal nights, and she didn’t want to risk her psyche grade for a poorly planned scavenger hunt through strip clubs and frat houses. She forced Beca to go though, insisting that the sound of her biting her nails was distracting her from studying. “You need a break too, Becs,” she had said, fiddling with the notecards she was  _still_ avoiding, “Go out, have fun. I’ll be here to deal with the consequences.” 

Of course, she didn’t exactly think Beca would have  _that_ much fun. “D’we have chipsss,” Beca asked seriously, still leaning on Chloe. Chloe pushed Beca’s weight off her chest, trying to catch Beca’s wandering eye. 

“Sit,” she said, pressing down on Beca’s shoulders so that she was sitting on Chloe’s bed. “Scoot,” she pushed Beca back towards the headboard, swinging her feet out to slip the other girl’s shoes off. Her feet were tiny, truly Cinderella-sized, and every time Chloe tried to tease her for it Beca would threaten to kick her. Which is why she never realized just how ticklish Beca was until now, with the girl giggling ridiculously and trying to get her foot out of Chloe’s grasp.

“C’me here,” Beca said, pulling her lip out in a pout and reaching her hands to Chloe. Sighing, Chloe crawled up the bed to where Beca sat, sitting on her knees. 

“Can I help you?” Chloe said, smiling when Beca sloppily put a hand on Chloe’s cheek. The other girl was smiling too, and Chloe loved how wide it was - completely unreserved. Unlike usual, she wasn’t fighting the way her eyes drifted to Chloe’s lips. And Chloe noticed. 

“Becs?” she said, her voice a confused, bemused whisper. 

“Mmm,” Beca murmured, closing her eyes for a moment. When they open, they seemed almost less hazy than before. Her stare was pin-straight. “Chlo-eee, Iloveyou.” 

Her hand was still on Chloe’s cheek, and briefly Chloe wondered whether the other girl noticed how deep her blush ran. 

Yeah, drunk Beca Mitchell showed her emotions  _much_ more than sober Beca Mitchell did. 

“I love you too, smalls,” Chloe said, trying to feign an easy tone. She reached a hand out, running her knuckles over Beca’s cheek. The other girl hummed, leaning into her touch. The lean brought their faces closer together, and Beca’s lips parted slightly. 

“Mm drunk,” Beca slurred when their foreheads touched, “But I wanna kisss you r’now. S’that…,” she paused to swallow, then smiled that drunk Beca smile, “S’that okay?” 


	46. The One Where Beca's Jealous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca getting really angry when some guy is flirting with chloe even though they are not a couple and starts a fight ? — sent by anonymous

“Shitshitshit,” Beca hissed when Chloe pressed the cold bottle of vodka (it was the closest thing their dorm fridge had to ice) to her knuckles. While the top of her hand was covering in a stinging cold, the bottom was being held by Chloe, who was tracing in the indents in her palm. Her hand was warm and soft, and if Beca could register anything but the throbbing pain of her knuckles, she’d be registering that. 

They sat in silence for a few moments, the room absent of Chloe’s typical hum. Beca sighed, trying to stretch out her fingers but wincing when she found it too challenging. 

“Listen, Chlo, I’m really sorry.” 

Chloe looked up quickly, surprised. 

“I don’t really know what happened…I just…” she fumbled around, trying to find the right words to absolve her from the night’s incident. It only brought her back to the look on the guy’s face (apparently his name was Chad, which, like, should be enough of a reason to punch him square in the jaw, right??), the way he positioned his hand on Chloe’s hip, leaning in with a grin that looked like a lion ready to eat a mouse. It was disgusting. 

Jesse had been saying something to her, attempting to have a conversation about the merits of  _Titantic,_ and all she could manage to do was nod between sips of her drink. Chloe and the lion-guy made their way to the couch, squished between a couple Beca recognized from the cafeteria and two people from her O-Chem Lab. The hand that slid up Chloe’s thigh burnt her throat more than the terrible college concoction she drank. 

And it was dumb. Ridiculous, really. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard Jesse say exactly that. “Dude, Chloe’s a big girl,” he said with a hand on her shoulder, “Let her do what she wants. Roam free. Test the waters. Spread her wings or whatever.” As per usual, Jesse was right, but every time she tried to pull her gaze away from the two of them, he’d lean in more or his hand would move further up. She couldn’t understand why, but it made  _her_ feel violated. 

In a flash of thought, she wondered if that was because when she looked at Chloe, there was a hint of enjoyment in her eyes. The redhead would grin, pushing him to go further, to lean closer, and then she’d let out this tinkling laugh that was enough to put goosebumps on Beca’s arms. Only – and she told herself this wasn’t her imagination – the laugh sounded slightly wrong, off-key or off-pitch or something. It didn’t match the weightless laugh that came with a roll of Beca’s eyes, or the infectious one that accompanied ( _ugh god)_ the Bellas semi-traditional pillow fights. Beca thought she’d heard every variation of Chloe Beale’s laugh –even, and especially, her flirty one– and the sound she’d just heard was certainly not that. 

So, between brushed aside touches by Jesse and two or three (she couldn’t exactly remember) more drinks, Chad had reached for Chloe’s wrist, tugging. She could mouth-read the words she’d been expecting all night, the classic “It’s getting late. Can I take you home?” and she thinks that’s exactly the point during which she blacked out. The next thing she knew, Chloe was staring at her, shocked and irritated and maybe a  _little_ pleased with herself and there was a throbbing pain coming from Beca’s knuckles. 

Chloe pressed the bottle more, allowing the pain to wake Beca up from her reverie. “Shit,” Beca hissed again, clearing her throat. “Anyway, I don’t know. Can I make the claim that you could do better than that?” 

Chloe smiled, and if it was forced, Beca couldn’t tell. “And you thought your fist would instill the captain of the Barden football team with whatever it was he was missing?” 

Beca groaned, pulling her hand away from Chloe’s but immediately missing the warmth. She leaned her head against the edge of her bed, shutting her eyes. She felt Chloe’s hand on her cheek, running up and down Beca’s jaw with her thumb. 

“For such a tiny thing, you’ve got quite the right hook,” she said, and Beca could  _hear_ the smile in her words. “I think you’ve got a bit of an anger problem, there, smalls.” 

Beca squeezed her eyes shut more, squinching her nose. “I know I deserve it because of tonight, but  _two_ short jokes in one breath? Seriously?”

Chloe laughed. Carefully, she lifted the bottle from Beca’s knuckles, softly pressing a kiss to them one by one. “What can I say? You are my  _little_ knight in shining armor.” 

 


	47. The One Where Beca Can't Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay a prompt. as lonnngg as you can make it bc I love your stories. Okay. First time Beca and Chloe. Beca suffers from super bad insomnia for years.. and somehow after a drunken Bella party turn sleepover, realizes that she can only sleep when Chloe is with her. Mix in other falling in love angst for both of them. Please! alsoooo.. I would not be opposed to eventually getting M rated ;) — sent by anonymous

_Beca Pitchell (4:57am)]: What the fuck are you doing emailing us set-lists at five in the morning?_

_[Chloe Beale (4:58am)]: Just a bit of pick-up work before I run._

_[Chloe Beale (5:00am)]: Shouldn’t I be asking you the same thing?_

_[Beca Pitchell (5:01am)]: Sleep is for the weak, Beale._

_[Chloe Beale (5:05am)]: You should still try._

_[Beca Pitchell (5:06am)]: Humph._

When Beca was a little girl, still willing to wear an ounce of pink and utterly enamored with the stuffed cow she now kept under her pillow, she didn’t sleep well. The only book in reach of her bed was the Illustrated Bible, and so she’d make her way through the long hours of the night with tales of David and Goliath or the crowded Inn. She read the book so many times through that she had started to sing it, concocting melodies for the psalms and verses that she was sure her mom could hear through the thin walls. 

Of course, she graduated quickly into actual chapter books, and by the time she reached middle school she was mixing music. 

So, she’d always evaded sleep, assuming that that particular gene was just skipped on her chromosome. “I don’t know how you can be such a dreamer when you don’t ever dream,” her mom had said when she gifted her a star necklace before Beca left for Barden, “But here’s to trying.” 

The past few years, though, the sleepness nights weren’t just times to catch up on life while everyone else sat unconscious. In fact, the amount of times she wished she could keep normal hours could fill an entire spreadsheet. Because when she was younger, a simple illustrated Bible was enough to distract her mind for her eight hour prison sentence. As she got older, however, her brain thought it would be fun to let the bad things creep in during those eight hours. As if turning off the lights allowed all the scenes of the day to slip into her mind again, to replay with horrible exaggerations of self, carrying with it lines of thought that pounded through her temples. 

“Okay, but what about medications,” Chloe suggested when she found out, braiding Beca’s hair before a performance. “Like, my junior year I couldn’t sleep, I tried this over-the-counter stuff that –”

“That’s not…That shit doesn’t work,” Beca winced at the hair being pulled from her head, “Trust me.” 

“Well,” Chloe hummed, “Maybe you just haven’t discovered the power of a cuddle buddy.”

“Or, like,  _really_ good sex,” Stacie interrupted from behind the mirror, applying mascara. 

“While you’re both not wrong, I’m thinking you’re probably not right either,” Beca allowed, pulling away from Chloe’s hands slightly to inspect the hairstyle. “Let’s just get this performance over with so we can drink.” 

“Amen to that,” Chloe sang, tapping her hands on Beca’s shoulder. 

–

It wasn’t the social life Beca predicted for herself when she went to college - although she didn’t really foresee  _any_ social life at all. Still, it was routine (or tradition or whatever the other Bellas wanted to call it) to go out after a performance, partaking in any and every game of truth or dare or karaoke made available to them. The first few times, Beca bugged out early, drunk but not drunk enough to cope with the way the girls liked to draped themselves over one another and slur through and awful rendition of “Walking in Memphis” or “Piano Man” or, god forbid, “Barbie Girl”. Then, she learned the power of drinking everything Chloe put in her hands and, miraculously, she started to almost enjoy the parties. 

Or, at least, enjoy the drinking. And the way various people responded to drinking. Well, the way Chloe responded to drinking. Even the slightest sip of jiggle juice sent the red-head’s hands wandering to whatever body was nearby - and, needless to say, Beca’s body was nearby majority of the time. 

Not that  _that_ was the reason Beca had more tolerance for drunk Chloe than she did for the other Bellas. No. It was because when Chloe was drunk, she maintained a certain amount of imperfectness that Beca fueled herself off of. Chloe Beale, who pissed rainbows and sneezed sunshine, who walked like she was floating on air, who seemed to always have a supermodel fan in front of her, because clumsy as all hell when she drank alcohol. Clumsy and sloppy and blunt. 

And Beca loved it.

Her imperfectness was, paradoxically, perfect. 

“I’mmmm drunk,” Chloe giggled, leaning close enough to touch Beca’s nose. Beca turned to down her drink in one gulp before looking back at Chloe. 

“I would’ve never have known, Red,” Beca said with a wink. Chloe laughed more, stepping forward but tripping on her own feet. Beca caught her easily, though the position of the taller girl in her arms was uncomfortable. Chloe didn’t seem to notice, though. The arms that held onto Beca to keep from falling moved to wrap around her, and Chloe hummed contentedly. 

“How much did she have tonight, guys,” she said to no one in particular, and CR looked up, grinning. 

“You try to take that ginger away from her jiggle juice,” she said, holding her hands up in surrender. “She’s about to have a rough morning, though, I’ll tell ya.” 

Chloe hummed again, almost as if she was agreeing. Groaning, Beca shifted the girl so she had more mobility. They walked to Chloe’s room slowly, stopping so that the redhead could occasionally look up and say something she felt was of large importance ( “Your nose looks different from this angle, Becs”, “You know, the Dixie Chicks were right about Bush I think probably”, “What’s the deal with mustaches, though?”). 

When they finally made it to her room, Beca slipped Chloe’s shoes off easily and tied her hair up into a bun. She moved to leave, but Chloe kept her hand tightly around Beca’s wrist. How she had that much strength with drunken noodle arms, Beca wasn’t entirely positive. 

“Don’ leaf,” Chloe muttered into the pillow, “Sleep here.” 

Beca huffed, tugging at the hand. “I don’t sleep, Chlo.” 

Chloe let out a whining noise, her eyes already closed. “Try.” 

She’d been told by doctors and parents and friends to “try” for years, like if she had the right amount of motivation then maybe the entire problem would sort itself out. Like monsters under the bed and in the mind would go away at the mere mention of determination. She would always roll her eyes at them, muttering a sarcastic, “Yeah, I never thought of that”. 

When Chloe said it (and she said it often, more concerned than most others about Beca’s troubling sleep schedule) it didn’t seem so ignorant. She’d type or text or whisper “try” and Beca always felt a new surge of hope, as if that was the one thing she’d been missing all these years. And this “try”, though muttered through vodka breath into a pillow, was more enticing and hopeful than all the others, because Chloe’s bed was comfortable, and Beca was buzzing with just enough to drunk, and she was practically shackled to the other girl. 

Yeah. She might as well just “try”. 

So she slipped under the covers next to Chloe, as far away from the other body as she possibly could. Then, she took on the role that she’d been taking on for years and years: lying stick straight, she stared at the wall, counting the imaginary pixels in her vision. She was acutely aware of the body on the other side of the bed, and the murmurs the other girl would occasionally make. Acutely aware of the alcohol and glitter scent (yes, glitter had a scent), the way Chloe smelled like the stage and sheet music and oranges. Beca turned over, not realizing how close Chloe had gotten. She decided, against all her basic instincts, to duck her head under Chloe’s chin. The action seemed to be accepted, as Chloe moved to wrap her arms around the smaller girl. And where there should’ve been panic, Beca just felt warmth. Ease. Comfort. 

For the first time since she could remember, Beca tried. She closed her eyes, measuring her breaths to loosen the muscles in her shoulders. Each time she breathed in, she smelled Chloe. Each time she breathed out, she felt Chloe. It was like cuddling up to a Care Bear. 

And slowly, more slowly than Beca was even aware of, she began to slip into sleep - her mind filled with nothing but the feeling of Chloe’s heartbeat against her ear and the song they made together. 

 

\--

 

Beca woke up to the smell of coffee with a dry mouth, a warm face, and cold hands. 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Chloe sang, plucking the coffee out of it’s cardboard carrying case. She slipped the scarf she was wearing off, followed by her mittens before closing the door completely. Beca took a deep breath, trying to orient herself to where she was at. 

“How the fuck are you alive right now,” Beca muttered when she remembered Chloe’s state the night before. Chloe shrugged, dropping her weight onto the rolling chair by her desk. 

“Happy self, happy liver,” Chloe said, reaching into the paper bag that had she was carrying along with the coffee. “Also, fantastic genes and a hangover cure that’s Nobel Prize worthy.” 

Beca raised her eyebrows at that, lifting the coffee to her mouth and taking a hesitant sip. “So,” Chloe said, rolling back and forth, “Did you sleep well?” 

She did sleep well. She slept fantastically. Like, a hardcore REM fallen-into-a-black-hole-and-stays-there-for-nine-hours sleep. Beca thinks the last time she had that might’ve been when she was in the hospital for appendicitis, and even that was induced by general anesthesia. She stayed in Chloe’s room most of the morning, but when she left she could feel herself bouncing. She almost felt like her edges were lined in a thin light, and it protected her against the normally obtrusive brightness of the sun or the frustrations of a mix that won’t work, or the piles and piles of homework she had left to address. She even smiled at Jesse voluntarily from across the quad, coping with his immediate pick-up conversation with relative ease and trace amounts of overwhelming insults. She assumed, then, that if this was how Chloe Beale felt all the time then it was no wonder she radiated sunshine. 

Of course, she didn’t tell Chloe that. She didn’t tell anyone that, realizing that it would be slightly absurd to ask that Chloe be her own personal sleeping-pill-teddy-bear hybrid. Chloe had her own bed, her own dorm, and her own schedule to keep - not to mention her own set of bed buddies to entertain as well. Explaining that there was something about her breath against Beca’s, her heartbeat against the smaller girl’s ear, or the way she hummed melodies when she was trying to fall asleep wasn’t exactly high on Beca’s list of totally normal best friend conversations to have. So she took the night she had, put it in the back of her head, and returned, night after night, to the age old tradition of starting at the pixelated wall in her vision until the sun rose. 

“And you’re sleeping?” her mother asked over the phone a few weeks after the incident. They hadn’t talked in two and a half weeks, and the question was never far from Dr. Mitchell’s lips when they had their check-in phone calls. It was part of the script they had - the script that matched that of the doctors, too. 

Beca would pause, allowing the silence to inform whomever asked of the actual truth, before sighing. “I sleep enough,” was always the response, occasionally followed by, “I’m surviving.” 

It was vague and slight, but enough that Dr. Mitchell could only sigh in return, throwing out a quick “Alright” and saying goodbye. After the night from a few weeks ago, Beca almost  _wanted_ her mother to probe more. 

It was nice to have someone who cared. 

Which was why Beca was willing to surrender the possibility of having Chloe nearby for a good night’s sleep, because her consolation prize was texts from Chloe in every few minutes that led up to the redhead’s bed time. Beca watched the texts grow increasingly less coherent until finally Chloe admitted defeat. 

_[Chloe Beale (1:21am)]: I giveup._

_[Chloe Beale (1:22am)]: Cnat stay awake._

_[Beca Pitchell (1:23am)]: Weeeeeaakkk_

_[Chloe Beale (1:28am)]: Don’t haet m_

_[Beca Pitchell (1:29am)]: Go to sleep, Chlo._

_[Chloe Beale (1:33am)]: k_

_[Chloe Beale (1:34am)]: But yuo sleep too ?_

_[Beca Pitchell (1:35am)]: We’ll see._

_[Chloe Beale (1:40am)]: Thts not good enogh. Yoou have to sleep, Bec. Pleas_

_[Beca Pitchell (1:41am)]: I’ll try. Right now. Turn off your phone. And sleep tight._

It almost became her favorite part of the night, watching Chloe stave off an insistent sleep (which confused Beca beyond belief because…insistent?? Sleep??) to ensure that Beca had what she needed to get through the night. And every time Beca told Chloe that she’d try, she did. There seemed to be more weight to that promise than the promises she’d made to her parents and doctors in the past, and though the weight didn’t exactly help Beca  _actually_ fall asleep, trying was a big step.  At the very least because it wasn’t met with Beca’s usual self-disappointment and frustration, but with Chloe’s smile and a cup of coffee and a persistent, “Sleep well?” followed by a, “Well, if not last night then tonight.” 

–

“What does he even know about a good layup,” Chloe sputtered at the television screen. Basketball players walked off the court as the screen dissolved into commercials, and Beca pressed her head to Chloe’s chest. It was one of Beca’s favorite Chloe secrets: the redhead, who lived in a house full of all-star football players growing up, had a passion for sports. Or, more accurately, sports-watching. Or, more accurately, sports-shouting. The secret crept up slowly, with Chloe spouting baseball stats at a few parties (Beca assumed it was a dedicated way to flirt) followed by Beca spotting her on the sidelines of a few games. When Beca started spending her Sunday afternoons in Chloe’s dorm, the revelation was inevitable. It became a past-time for them. 

Chloe was muttering something at the television, and Beca thought it might’ve been a monologue from the scene she was supposed to memorizing for the Intro to Dramatic Arts she was conned into taking. Occasionally, Chloe’s tone would turn up, and Beca had enough basic social knowledge to realize a question was asked. She’d hummed or nodded or shrug depending on the taste of the tone and go back to swirling circles over the seam of the comforter. 

Putting an arm around the other girl, Chloe pulled Beca closer to her absentmindedly, her gaze still steady-focused on the game. She was wearing a tattered jersey from her home-town. Beca loved the Sundays when Chloe’s team played, because she wore this jersey, which smelled inherently of  _Chloe._ That indescribable, top-of-the-head scent that each person is given was stained inside the jersey, and Beca judged it’s age by the photo on Chloe’s desktop of a tiny red-haired girl without her two front teeth, donning it proudly as a dress. She slipped inside the smell, curled into Chloe’s side, and she felt the spell she’d been missing for so long come over her again. 

Her eyes became heavier as Chloe rumbled something about the referee, and she nuzzled into Chloe’s side more, turning into the smallest imaginable ball with one fist on the jersey. 

It felt good to slip away, just as good as the first time despite the Sunday sun drifting through the windows and the overall awake-ness of the rest of the world. It felt good because Beca didn’t question it, accepting the sleepiness almost like she’d been waiting around for it to stop by. In the back of her head before she closed her eyes completely, she registered an “Oh” whispered by Chloe and a shift of the older girl’s body to accommodate her more. She would’ve realized that Chloe’s shouts to the television were quieter, her hand trailing up and down Beca’s arm in comfort, had she not fallen into a deep, easy sleep immediately. 


	48. The One Where Chloe Makes A Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jealous beca pls! — sent by anonymous

“I’m not jealous,” Beca sputtered, fiddling with the salt and pepper shakers set out at the bar of the diner Jesse had brought her to in order to get her to ‘stop moping around like her girlfriend had cheated on her’ (which  _really_ made Beca wince, and she wondered if Jesse knew anything that ran through her head when she thought her mask was thick enough to cover the thoughts sparking up without her permission when Chloe touched her knee or explained choreography). Jesse raised his eyebrows in response, and Beca hated it - she really did - when Jesse thought that he was right. Because he had a tendency to not put the subject to rest until she threw out a strangled, forced concession and kissed him in an irritated way to let the conversation dissolve into an uncomfortable, high-school-reminiscent makeout session (complete with an awkward amount of groping, which Beca really needed to address with him). 

“Becawww,” he grinned, “You are  _totally_ jealous. If jealous where a country, you’d be the unwilling, skinny-jean-wearing queen, played by Anne Hathaway in the eventual biopic.” 

Beca rolled her eyes. “First of all, ew, Anne Hathaway  _so_ wouldn’t play me. Second of all…”

“It’s a freakin’ Princess Diaries reference, Mitchell,” he said in disbelief. She looked up at him, glaring. 

“You are such a girl,” she said, “And I am  _not_ jealous. Chloe’s entitled to her…sexual freedoms.” 

“Her sexual freedoms…” Jesse repeated, pursing his lips, and really Beca had no idea how he could be so comfortable with this conversation. “Mmhmm, okay. Just remember, she’s your best friend. No guy’s going to replace that.”

As Amy would say,  _whomp there it is._

Beca nodded, trying to get the final bits of her milkshake to fill the silence because she couldn’t exactly say that she wasn’t entirely worried about her position as best friend so much as she was about her title of sleep-over buddy and movie-night-cuddle-human (a title that Chloe, against all of Beca’s wincing, actually bestowed upon Beca, jumping onto the Bellas couch and wrapping her arms around Beca, squeezing and squealing, “I claim Beca! No one else gets her. She’s my official movie-night-cuddle-human, so eat your hearts out, girls”). She was worried about the time they’d already spent talking about this guy or that guy - or, to Beca’s shock and blush, that  _girl_ - as Chloe strove to make her second senior year a campus-tour of hook-ups. From the locker-rooms to the Dean’s Office, Chloe was burning through her location list quicker than Beca could’ve imagined, and she’d spend the morning or afternoon or night after her sex-capade running into Beca’s room and gushing over the X-rated details. 

“Do we really have to do this?” Beca had asked when she told her first story, which made Chloe remove her hands from Beca’s cross-legged knees. She almost looked hurt. 

“Becs, you’re my best friend,” she said as if that explained why she was currently completely altering Beca’s opinion of the quiet kid who sat next to her in her German Lit class. “If I die, someone needs to carry on the story of my campus-conquest.” 

And, though Beca originally wrote off the way her stomach twisted and turned throughout the stories as the result of her life-long discomfort with anything and everything bedroom related, it didn’t take long for the gross, uninvited voice of truth to pass into her mind. Because, if she was being honest, she wanted to punch every person who walked by them in the quad that Chloe would wink at, whispering in Beca’s ear “freshman dorm” or “science lab” - and the need to physically injure these culprits was very clearly not being sourced in a desire to protect Chloe, that girl could very well protect herself. No, that need was being drawn from the fact that behind all of these stories was a face that  _wasn’t_ hers, a body that  _wasn’t_ adorned in the tattoos that Chloe liked to trace when she thought Beca was sleeping, a face that  _didn’t_ blush at the opening lines of Titanium, and a voice that  _couldn’t_ hit the notes that filled Chloe with that pleasant surprise that always made Beca smile. 

She hated when Jesse thought he was right, but she hated even more when he actually was right. Because she was jealous - properly, properly jealous, her palms sweating and her stomach flopping when she saw Chloe so much as twirl her hair in the presence of another person. 

And, blinded by her jealousy, Beca didn’t once consider that Chloe might be doing those things for the express purpose of instilling these feelings, these thoughts, these  _images_ directly into Beca’s mind. 

\--

Chloe twirled her pen between her fingers, staring at the back of Beca’s neck instead of the sheet music on the desk. She hummed absentmindedly to Lilly’s beat, tapping her toe, but her focus was divided. Beca was wearing a tank top, the straps pulling in to reveal the twists of her tattoos. It took all of Chloe’s mental energy not to reach out and touch it. So instead, she traced the lines with her eyes, breathing into a pattern of ups and downs and turns made the hour-long rehearsal go by quickly. 

“Earth to Red,” Amy sang, snapping in front of Chloe’s face. Humming, she blinked twice to break her rhythm, and looked at the woman standing over her. Or, rather, the group of women standing over her - Amy was accompanied by CR and Stacie, who were all throwing her suspicious glares. 

“I swear to God, the day you two partake in lesbian arts and crafts,” Amy stopped to make a scissoring motion with her hands, “is the day we can all be relieved of the sexual tension that’s dripping off the walls.” 

Chloe was prepared to defend herself, ready with the excuse that Beca had an ant on her neck or something of that nature, but Stacie jumped before she had the chance. 

“Seriously, Chlo, I know that look. I imagine most people naked, like, 99% of the time. Beca’s been trying her best not to mentally undress you for, like, the past ten rehearsals.” 

“Mmhmm,” CR added, looking back at Beca who was packing her bag, “And you’ve got the power to make her imagination a reality, so, for the sake of the only  _active_ lady-lover here, _please_ address your toners.” 

Chloe, rarely one to be flustered, stuttered through what she wanted to say. “I don’t - I mean…Beca is…” She picked up her sheet music, noticing her hand was shaking. Clearing her throat, she stood to their level. “First of all, Beca’s with Jesse. Second of all, I’ve got an entire campus to sleep my way through, which, third of all, does not allow me the energy to even _think_ about indulging in any of your weird fantasies.” 

“Aca-excuse you, Bi-furious Nodes,” Amy said, her hands up in mock-surrender. “They aren’t _our_ fantasies. They’re just the fantasies that have been  _thrust_ upon us by our near-queer captains.” 

“Right,” Stacie agreed, crossing her arms. “And, besides, if you think I don’t know the game you’re playing with that campus conquest shit, you’ve underestimated the hunter.” 

Chloe opened her mouth to argue, but Stacie held a finger out to shush her, tutting. “Nevertheless, the game’s worked. Jeca ended yesterday.” 

“What?” Chloe finally managed to screech between the girls’ intervention. “Beca didn’t…She didn’t say anything, I –” 

“It’s true,” CR confirmed, “Stace got the text last night, Amy was greeted by a moping Beca this morning, and now here we are.” 

“How did it –” Chloe took a step closer to the girls when she noticed Beca coming towards them. 

“He grew some aca-balls and dumped her,” Amy whispered conspiratorially. “Said he was tired of her focus being… _pulled_.” While she said it, she mimed a rope in her hands, lassoing Chloe and moving forward in thrusts. Beca was nearly within earshot. 

“And Chloe?” Stacie said quickly, leaning in, “She basically agreed with him. So…” 

With that, Beca popped into the conversation with an awkward wave and a raise of her eyebrows. Chloe took a moment to analyze her, expecting to at least find the remnants of a shower-less or smeared make-up. Only, Beca looked like she was almost glowing, and her smile seemed less weighted. 

Chloe didn’t like the idea that Jesse kept her down - dimmed her energy, so to speak - but it was clear that after just one night free Beca appeared to be liberated of something that was pressing down on her. 

At the clearing of CR’s throat, she realized she was doing it again…that whole sex-eyes thing. Blinking away, she convinced herself that Beca didn’t notice. 

“So we were just heading out,” Stacie said, pointing towards the door. “Three-way study sesh, no captains allowed.” 

“Yeah, apologies aca-bi-tches,” Amy emphasized the  _bi_ with a wink that made Beca raise her eyebrows, “We don’t want to be distracted by all your best friendliness.” 

CR and Amy started heading out, accompanied by Stacie only over she’d tapped Chloe on the ass and whispered, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

“They were being extra weird today, right?” Beca asked, looking for confirmation. 

“Yeah, no,” Chloe stuttered, “Um. You know them. Weird.” 

Beca let out a breath, slamming her bag on the ground and leaning into the desk. “They fucking told you, didn’t they.” 

“Told me what?” Chloe asked, trying to feign innocence. “They didn’t tell me anything.” 

Beca rolled her eyes, sighing. “I’m not torn up about it. Just for the record.” 

“That much is obvious,” Chloe said, gesturing at Beca’s form. 

“What does that mean?” 

“Nothing,” she answered quickly. “Just that, like…you look great today. Like, really  _really_ good.” 

Beca eyed her suspiciously, the pen that was in her hand slipping into her mouth. She bit on the cap, and Chloe didn’t realize she was watching her until the silence pressed down on them. 

“Um, so, that was my night,” Beca said, taking a breath and closing her eyes to prepare for what was to come. “Your turn, Miss Barden Ambassador.” 

“Hmm?” Chloe forgot what they were talking about, but when her eyes snapped up to Beca, she realized she missed something. 

“That whole disgusting campus conquest thing…you know, don’t let any night go to waste…” 

“Right,” Chloe said, pursing her lips and trying to push her attention away from the girl in front of her. The newly single girl in front of her. The newly single girl in front of her that was almost excited to hear about Chloe’s most recent sexcapade - well, her eyes were excited, and her blush was excited, but there was still reluctance in her tone. Chloe smiled. 

The past few times she’d showed up at Beca’s dorm to tell stories of her adventures, she’d noticed the tone shift slightly. There was a change to the way Beca was listening, averting her eyes when Chloe started to go into detail, but still very clearly focused on the images Chloe created. Technically, it was the shift she was waiting for. 

In the game she was playing, the “victim” (she hated to call Beca that, because it felt entirely too predatory, but high school Chloe - the one who invented this game - didn’t care as much for political correctness) would originally listen to the stories with disinterest, minor discomfort, and a significant amount of protesting. Then, as the stories progressed, and the details were lengthened, the victim would start to lean in more, humming occasionally, their gaze glazed over a bit. Present-day Chloe would call it less of a game and more of a gradual process wherein she indirectly talked dirty, induced feelings of jealousy, and then slowly introduced the victim to the possibility that they might, you know, have feelings for the woman telling the story. And once they realized that - once that shift happened - she acted. 

It never failed, and, though Beca was the first non-single person she’d tried it on (and the first person in college, because, really, she knew how juvenile it all sounded), once again the technique could boast of satisfaction guaranteed. Because here it was, the shift - only, it was _bigger_ than the shift,  _better_ than the shift. Not only was Beca interested in Chloe’s X-rated stories, she was  _asking_ to hear about them. 

Well, that and she’d broken up with her boyfriend (was broken up with  _by_ her boyfriend), and didn’t seem to want to mourn in the slightest. Or, if she did, she wanted to mourn via tales of the aca-sexologist. Which was more than enough for Chloe to know she’d played the game right. 

Beca was looking at her hesitantly, waiting for the story to begin, but as Chloe’s eyes trailed over her body, the waiting turned into a blushing burn. She bit her lip, pushing her hair back, and Chloe used the opportunity to grab her by the wrist. 

“So, I didn’t go out last night, actually,” Chloe said, her voice holding a musical lilt. She stepped closer to Beca, weaving a hand through the belt-loop. 

“O-oh,” Beca stuttered, her confusion masked by a thicker fog, “I-isn’t that risky? Like, if you want to meet your goal then…” She swallowed, watching Chloe out of the corner of her eye. 

“Yeah,” Chloe nodded, her voice entirely too casual for their proximity. “But…so okay, there’s this person I want to ask for help with it all…” 

“…Mmhhhmm,” Beca said slowly, still frozen. Chloe was spelling it out gradually, wanting to make sure that nothing she did seemed sudden or aggressive or out of line. Thus far, no protests came her way, so she continued. 

“Because one of the biggest challenges on campus is, according to my calculations, the music room.” 

Beca’s breathing hitched, and she finally turned to make eye-contact with Chloe. “Um, that’s….” 

“Right,” Chloe said, moving to intertwine her fingers with Beca’s, “You see, only the Bella captains have keys to this room off-hours, and having anyone else in here would be outside of Bella protocol so…”

“So…” 

“So…” 

Yeah. Chloe had Beca right where she wanted her. And Beca didn’t seem to bothered by it. 


	49. The One With Wisdom Teeth and Novacane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love your minifics! Can you do one where Beca or Chloe are trippin' balls on pain medication? Kinda like when some people do after having their wisdom teeth taken out. — sent by anonymous

Beca Mitchell was not, nor would she ever be, a giggler. 

Squeezed into skinny jeans and basic tank tops, with ear spikes on display and eyeliner that raccoons would be proud of, Beca spent a majority of her time trying to build the appearance of someone who does not, under any circumstances, giggle. 

And Chloe reminded herself to keep that in mind when she would later tell Beca  about what her drug-adled alter-ego did after she got her wisdom teeth out. Because Beca Mitchell might not have been a giggler, but “Aca-awesome Bella Captain Bec-awww” sure as hell was. 

Trying to focus on the instructions written out on the bottle of pain medicine, Chloe heard Beca starting to slur her way through Sir Mix-a-lot. She squeezed the bottle tighter when Beca giggled at the lyrics, and had to put it down to fully appreciate the snorts that the smaller woman had let out. 

–

“ _I’m only doing this if you promise not the video tape me,”_ Beca said only hours before, her fingers tapping nervously on the windshield. 

“ _It’s not even going to be that bad, you know. I don’t know why you’re so nervous.”_

 _“Well, first, I hate dentists. Second, I’ve seen Youtube, Chlo. I’m not dumb. If I say anything….dumb, just please don’t…”_ she bit her lip, as if she was holding something back. There was a very real fear behind Beca’s eyes that Chloe was unfamiliar with until that moment, and she wanted to ask about what she was so scared of, but Beca blinked and brushed the thought away. “ _Just don’t hold me to anything I say, okay?”_

_–_

“Chlo-eeeeee,” Beca sang, her hand outstretched and hanging limply in the air, “Come hereeeee.” 

Chloe sighed, turning around and grabbing the ice pack before moving towards the bed. Before she could sit, though, Beca grabbed both her hands and yanked her down. “Whoa, tiger, you okay there?” 

Beca hummed, her hands still on Chloe’s. Their faces were close, and Beca went crossed-eyed to try to focus on Chloe. “Mmmm, just peachy, Chlo-eee Beale.” 

Nodding carefully, Chloe tried to pull her hands out from under Beca’s, only managing to free one. Which she was okay with, because having Beca touch her so voluntarily was an unusual and unfamiliar feeling, and she wanted to categorize each sensation so she could remember it in case it never happened again. Beca was warm, her hands dry, and she smelled like dentist. 

Okay, so not the hottest thing in the world. 

The eyeliner Beca applied so carefully this morning was smeared, and Chloe moved to wipe the smudge, barely being able to register Beca’s face dart around quicker than she should’ve been capable of. Without a moment’s hesitation, Beca’s mouth caught Chloe’s thumb, and when Chloe jerked back, surprised, Beca let it loose with a pop. “Oooth,” she lisped, giggling again. 

Wiping her thumb on her jeans, Chloe took a breath, biting back her smile. To see Beca like this was truly an anthropological phenomenon. She spent the past two years chipping away day by day at the wall Beca had built up around her, and to have her reduced to snorts and thumb-licks in one hour almost felt like cheating the entire process. Only, Chloe assumed that what stood at the end of her constant chipping away wasn’t going to be what was currently sitting in front of her. If normal Beca sat quietly and broodily behind a brick wall, this Beca rode a unicycle, naked,  _around_ the wall. 

“Boop!” Beca popped into Chloe’s line of sight to poke her nose. Chloe blinked twice, turning towards Beca, who had the world’s biggest grin plastered onto her face. Briefly, Chloe wondered if this was what she like all the time. Damn, no wonder Beca always complained about personal space. 

Chloe smiled back at Beca, reaching up to grab her nose. Her hand came back in a fist, the thumb peaking out. “Boop yourself,” Chloe joked, holding up the thumb, “I’ve got your nose.” 

She wiggled her eyebrows, watching as the other girl looked on in shock, tears welling in her eyes.  

“Give it back,” she said, her face turning into a pout Chloe wasn’t familiar with, “Please, please give it back.” 

Chloe laughed, pressing her hand to Beca’s nose and saying “voila!”, resting her hands on Beca’s shoulders when she was finished. Smiling victoriously, Beca slapped two hands on either side of Chloe’s cheeks, pressing them together. 

“Chlo-eeee,” she said, her brows furrowed. Even through the haze of drugs and pain, Beca was trying to be serious, “Chlo-eeeeeee.” 

When she smiled at Beca’s giggle, it came out warped because of the pressure of Beca’s hands on her cheeks, which made Beca laugh even more. 

“Chlo-eeeeee,” she said, suddenly quieting down, “Chlo-ee this is serious now. Look at me.” 

Beca’s hands were still on Chloe’s cheeks. She literally had nowhere else to look. “I am looking at you.” 

“Look at me!” she said again, her hands tightening, and Chloe huffed. 

“Okay.” 

“You have ve _rrrrrr_ y blue eyes, Ms. Beale,” she said, staring into Chloe’s eyes one-by-one with a very serious and analytic tone. “Like…” 

She went quiet, trying to find a comparison, and as she did so, she looked straight into Chloe’s eyes. 

From giggling to physical contact to eye contact, this Beca was defying any previous rules set out for her, and Chloe was grateful for being able to unabashedly stare at Beca’s eyes without ridicule. Her pupils were obviously dilated, but her eyes were the color of a glassy sky at night - a thing she didn’t know about Beca until this moment. And they told a lot more stories than Beca ever dared out loud. 

“Like the ocean!” Beca said triumphantly, forgetting she still had Chloe’s cheeks in her hand, pressing them together to try to clap. “But, no, because better.” 

Chloe blushed, trying to pull away, but Beca squeaked in protest. 

“I like you here,” she said, squeezing as if to emphasize this was where she wanted the other girl to be. Leaning forward, Chloe saw her sway while she did it, Beca pressed her lips against Chloe. It wasn’t the most romantic intoxicated, accidental kiss they’d had - they kind of had a lot more than either of them admitted to remembering, but, like every time before, it still made Chloe’s stomach twist. 

“I like you,” she said, no slurs in her words, and, if Chloe didn’t know any better, she would’ve though Beca sobered up for that very moment of confession. Only, there was a bottle of pain medicine on her dresser, and quite a few in her mind, so Chloe assumed she was reading the whole situation wrong. She stood up, moving towards the prescription bottle to get the pills ready. “Two of these every four hours, Becs.” There was silence from behind her as she struggled with the child-proof cap. “Becs?” 

She was greeted by a snore, with Beca Mitchell slumped on her bed. Chloe smiled, her hand full of the dosage. 

Beca Mitchell was also  _not_ a girl who snored. 

But assuming she both giggled  _and_ snored, Chloe decided that the girl who kissed her couldn’t, technically, be Beca. So she reached at hand up to Beca, catalyzing another snore, and ran her pinky over Beca’s hairline. 

“I like you too, by the way, Mitchell,” she said quietly to herself, and she swore she saw Beca grin at that. 

 


	50. The One Where Chloe Gets Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you do one where beca and chloe are fighting but then one of them got sick?? hahaha thanks :)) — sent by anonymous

She’d felt the virus coming for a few days now, was warned by that ominous throat tingle and a constant underlying feeling of nausea. But she wasn’t one to get sick, or, at the very least, accept sickness as an excuse to slow down until it knocked her down and forced her to press pause. In one part, because admitting sickness to a group full of singers meant admitting defeat and surrendering to home-made remedies that ranged from spoonfuls of honey to shot of Windex - which she was positive was toxic, regardless of how many Tasmanians swore by it. 

_…_

_{Becs [11:57 am]}: I feel like we should probably talk_

_{Becs [12:37 pm]}: Like, whenever you’re free_

_{Becs [12:38 pm]}: Before Bellas rehearsal, maybe? Just don’t want things to be weird_

_{Becs [1:44 pm]}: Okay so you’re angry_

_{Becs l [2:52 pm]}: Like, really angry_

_{Bree [3:02 pm]}: Chloe I don’t care what kind of lesbian drama is happening with you and Beca, but if you miss rehearsals today, I swear to God…_

_{Becs [3:03 pm]}: Shit…Chlo?_

From the noisy students across the hall and the constant stream of vibrations coming from the phone on her desk, Chloe woke up a few times throughout the day, registering somewhere in her mind that her daily calendar wasn’t capable of working around a 24 hour sleep-a-thon, but the throbbing in her throat convinced her to force that panic down in favor of continuing the almost painless unconsciousness she’d been enjoying. Not that it was a perfectly uninterrupted sleep; her sheets were sticky with sweat, though she couldn’t stop shivering, and every time she coughed, she saw a flash of Beca’s face behind her eyelids, shadowed and glaring and broken. 

Everything in the room was harsh, from the lines of her dresser to the feel of her tank top, and in her flu-crazed mind, she heard Beca’s voice echoing. 

“ _You don’t get to…ugh…This is_ my  _life, Chlo. You don’t get to just tell me what I can and can’t do.”_

In the haze of sleep, she saw Beca pulling at her hair in frustration, resisting eye contact as she paced around the room. 

She felt the pressure in her gut, the need to defend herself. 

“ _I’m not telling you what to do, Becs, I’m just…like…how could you just…leave them? Leave this? We just recovered from last year’s fiasco, and the Bellas are gonna need you to –”_

 _“That’s not your fucking call!” Beca snapped, finally turning around to look at Chloe. “None of this is your fucking call. I was_ not  _responsible for puke-gate 2011, Chlo, and I don’t really think that my life’s path should center around some group of girls singing mash-ups in vaguely suggestive ways. It’s bullshit.” Chloe winced at that, at the way Beca brushed off everything she worked at for four years. At the way she brushed off all the things that had happened._

 _“Beca,” Chloe tried, standing up slowly, “I happen to_ love  _this bullshit, thank you very much.” She started a steady walk towards the girl but had to stop, holding tightly to her desk chair to maintain control. She felt an uncharacteristic surge of Posen-rage in her blood. “I care about these girls and what happens to them. And I thought you did too.”_

_“No, Chlo, that’s not…” Beca paused to run her hands through her hair again, a slight jump of frustration coming out of her, “God, that’s not what I meant. I just…this was the plan. LA was the plan. Producing was the plan.”  
_

_“Plans change, Beca,” Chloe said, “People change and plans change and life fucking changes, and you don’t have to go around pretending like none of this matters just because it doesn’t live up to the standards you’ve set for what’s cool and what’s not cool. God dammit.”  
_

_She turned from Beca this time, sitting in the desk chair and putting her hands on her face. “It’s just really fucking selfish, Beca.”_

She didn’t get angry often, or ever, and the words were sharp when they left her mouth. So much so that Chloe tasted them even now, and she thought she could momentarily blame the stinging accusation on whatever disease was currently breaking her body to pieces. She tried to swallow, her throat too dry to do anything but heave back a cough. From the world outside her blanket-nest, she heard her door open.  

“Chlo?” 

The other girl groaned in response, but it was raspy and her throat screamed out in protest. She decided not to risk moving. “Sick,” was all she managed, her throat burning again. 

Beca, somehow managing to travel the entire length of the room in a matter of seconds, had a hand on Chloe’s forehead in an instant. 

“Fuck, Chlo, you’re burning up.” She removed the hand quickly, wiping it against her jeans. Eyes darting around the room, she picked at her thumbnail while she searched for things to help. 

Chloe lived to ease the lives of others, frequently staying silent to avoid placing strain on the people she cared about. It was why she remained mute as she felt a pressure building up in her chest that week, and it was why she didn’t text Aubrey to tell her she wouldn’t be at rehearsals because she had what was probably an easily transmutable virus. Limited information, glossed over with easy smiles and wicked winks, kept people safe. 

Which was why Chloe, against everything she was feeling at the moment, smiled and said, “In more ways than one, babe,” before winking. Only, the move actually increased the worry on Beca’s face. Chloe’s voice could only manage above a whisper, and she ended it with a cough that shook her whole body. Beca tried to roll her noncommittally, an effort that Chloe appreciated, before she hurriedly went to open the blinds. 

“Sun,” she said, pulling her hair into a messy bun. “You need sun.” 

Moving to Chloe’s face, she pushed back the hair that was matted to her forehead, tugging at the tank top Chloe had on. Chloe had enough energy to shoot her a scandalous look. “Shut up,” Beca quipped, tugging again, “Those clothes are full of your grossness. You’re just lucky I’m not the type of person to force you into the shower.” 

The giggle that Chloe let out hurt her throat, but by the way it eased the furrow on Beca’s brow, she was grateful. Lifting her arms proved to be the most challenging task she’d performed thus far that day, and every wince pushed apologetic glances from Beca’s face. “You had me worried, Beale,” she said, bunching up the tank top and picking up a few more piles of clothes on the floor to throw into the hamper. “Like I genuinely thought you died.” 

Somehow, Beca knew her way around Chloe’s room better than Chloe did, pulling open the dresser full of her t-shirts and throwing a long-sleeved one towards the bed. “Or, like, hated me. Or whatever.” 

Chloe moved to sit up, reaching for the t-shirt before the room started spinning, and she became very aware of how little oxygen she could breathe in through her nose. She didn’t mean to let out an “Oh” at the fireworks invading her vision, but she thinks she must’ve, because Beca was immediately back at her side, easing her back down to the pillow. “Okay, so you  _might_ have actually died.” 

Shrugging, Chloe decided not to deny the fact that several invisible cars were slamming into all sides of her at the moment. Beca unscrewed the lid to her water bottle, pressing it to Chloe’s lips and carefully tipping it. “Hydration,” she said simply, putting it down after it started to dribble on the bed. Then, she was off again, racing to the fridge and muttering a quiet “aha” before pulling out a bottle of whiskey and teabags. 

“Kettle?” 

Chloe pointed to it, her eyelids getting heavier as she watched Beca leave the room. When she opened them again, a hand was running over her back in circles, and Beca was sitting over her, blowing on a steaming mug. Chloe moved to sit, this time a little more successfully, and Beca held out the mug. 

“It’s my mom’s recipe,” Beca said, “She used to give it to me during high school. Proven to knock you out more than that shit I bought off good ol’ drug-dealing Tommy sophomore year.”  

If warmth could be contained in a drink, the mug full of Beca’s concoction would be it. Electrifying and comforting at the same time, Chloe felt like she was pulling a blanket up over her throat and down her muscles. She pressed the cup to her forehead to collect the heat. 

“One part whiskey, two parts tea, honey, and a dash of cough syrup,” Beca said, “Not for the faint of heart, but Dr. Mitchell approved.” 

Chloe smiled, taking another sip. “It’s good,” she croaked, noting that it didn’t hurt the way it did earlier. 

The thing about hanging out with Beca Mitchell - aside from her constantly surprising Chloe with new life facts (drug-dealing Tommy?  _Dr._ Mitchell?) - was that they could sit in silence and Chloe never felt the need to interrupt it. There was no urgency to their conversations, no discomfort in their silences, and it was always something that Chloe found relief in. Only this time, Beca was biting the skin on her thumb, sucking on it when it bled. She was sitting on Chloe’s bed, but her knee was shaking. Chloe had had enough of the medicinal cocktail that the edges of her vision were getting blurred, so she had enough bravery to try to talk. “So. I haven’t checked my phone, but…” 

“Right. God. Sorry. There’s like, a million messages on there. From me. When you didn’t show at rehearsals I started to get scared that I fucked something up and…”

“We can talk about it, if you want,” Chloe offered, cutting off Beca’s rambles. The lines around the room were getting softer, and Chloe could feel her head getting fuzzy. 

“Dude, no.” Beca reached over to take the mug. Chloe didn’t remember finishing it. “You’re sick. Like, royally sick. We’re not going to discuss my idiocy while you’re operating at a body heat of 200 degrees Fahrenheit.” 

Beca’s hand on Chloe’s cheek was warm, but she shivered into it, using whatever strength she had to pull Beca to her, wrapping her arms around the smaller girl in some kind of variation of spooning. 

“But, because you probably won’t remember this tomorrow, I want to say I’m sorry,” she heard Beca rumble against her chest. “And that I kind of never want to hear Chloe Beale sound that mad at me ever again.” 

Chloe hummed contentedly, and for a second she didn’t feel the pounding of her whole body in painful protest. “Mitchell,” she whispered, her voice still a croak, “I just really don’t want you to leave.” 

Beca shifted, uncomfortable. Chloe thought she could feel her swallow something down. 

“Yeah,” she heard the other girl say, even though she was already drifting into sleep. “No, I know. I won’t.” 

Chloe wasn’t sure, but she thought she was hugging Beca even tighter. “But, also, know that when I get sick tomorrow, I’m blaming you, and Aubrey’s going to flip a giant shit.”  


	51. The One With the Bear Trap (Remix)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loving your prompts. How about one where when Chloe and Beca are fighting and she walks into the booby trap and the girls are trying to get her down and she falls and hurts herself. Then Chloe takes care of her and they confess their feelings for each other. — sent by anonymous

"

Fuck,” the word comes out of Beca’s mouth in a hiss, with so much sharp zeal that Chloe has to stall for a second, her hand instinctively jerking away from the cut she’s supposed to be applying pressure to. 

“Hush up, badass DJ Mitchell,” Chloe huffs without bothering to cover-up the softness in her voice. She presses down again, and Beca tries her best not to jump at the pain. “This is your fault anyway.” 

“ _My_ fault?” Beca forgets her pain for a second, ogling Chloe, who had an eyebrow raised in a clear attempt at provoking the smaller girl. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, under the supervision of drill-sergeant Aubrey Posen, I’ve probably broken all my bones and am in need of at least twelve stitches, and you want to talk about blame?”

Chloe shifts to be on her knees, moving to pull out the medical tape. She hums while she does it, running her other hand over the bones on Beca’s ribcage. “Becs,” she says it soothingly, her voice soft. Beca is reminded of the time she was in the room when the redhead skyped with her mom - the way Mrs. Beale’s voice practically felt like home-made cookies. “At most you’ll be sore in the morning, and you’ll be sporting some bruises for the start of bikini season.”

Beca huffs, attempting to cross her arms but instead wincing in pain and settling for the whine of an injured animal. Chloe looks up from where she was working on her leg to smile. She cut the tape and scoot up to Beca’s face, pushing back a strand of hair that had fallen loose. 

“I can’t wait to tell the other Bellas that miss ear-spikes and back tattoos has such low pain tolerance,” she says with a twinkle in her eyes, and Beca grumbles. 

“Shouldn’t I get some pity here, Chlo? Where’s my ‘poor baby, here’s some candy to make the pain go away?’” 

“I mean, I could do that,” Chloe considers, “But you still haven’t apologized.”

“I fell from a tree, Chloe. Isn’t that enough of an apology?”

“Beca,” Chloe warns, “That doesn’t count. I’ve spent majority of this year not sleeping because I was afraid you were angry at me. Like, genuinely genuinely angry at me. I don’t…well, like, I’m not used to…” 

Beca knows every variation of Chloe’s eye color. There was the bright, electric blue that came from performing, and the green-blue that popped up when she was scared or stressed or angry. Then, there was the white blue, the cloudy blue, that swam to the surface before she cried. Beca hates that blue, no matter how beautiful it is. 

She reaches out even though the muscles in her arms regret the movement, putting her hand on top of Chloe’s. “Breathe,” she reminds her. 

“Right. Okay.” Chloe looks up to stall the tears. 

Beca, too, closes her eyes briefly. Because she knew from early on that nearly every one of Chloe’s actions were carefully measured to ensure that no one ever got angry at her. Each move was taken as a means of increasing her likability factor - from her clothes to her occasional lack of opinion to the way she feigned a smile before she started to cry. Chloe Beale’s biggest fear is that she wouldn’t be liked. And Beca made her think that that fear had come true. So she closes her eyes when Chloe looks up, because she’d hurt maybe every bone in her body (she still thinks they should’ve shipped her to the ER), but she’d willingly do it again as punishment for acting so stupidly. For silencing Chloe again over the course of all these months, for turning her into the Chloe that she met freshman year - the Chloe that nodded when Aubrey commanded, the Chloe that sank into easy, traditional  _forgetful_ melodies because she hated the sound of discordance. 

“Fuck,” Beca breathes, and Chloe looks down quickly in alarm. “Oh no, no, I’m not, like, hurt,” she quickly clarified. “I just…Okay. So. I’m sorry. Like, actually sorry. Because I wasn’t fair to you or any of the Bellas. But most especially you. Goddammit, I wasted so much fucking time, yunno?” 

Chloe snaps her mouth shut, just watching Beca talk without interruption for the longest time so far this year. She missed the way she could see the other girl’s gears turning, how she talked before she was finished thinking, jumping back and forth with curse words and grasping hands. 

“Like, shit, we never went to that crap party store you wanted to go to. You know, to get the stuff for initiation. And we never made it through all the tracks on Mario Kart. I never made you that super sandwich - the one that I snapchatted you last summer?…I sound dumb.” 

Chloe shushes her, reaching a hand up to run up and down her cheek. She does love watching Beca’s gears turn, she loves watching the process of thought - and that is largely because she always knew where the destination would be. She can see the destination far off, but she enjoys the little stops and turns Beca makes in her speeches to get there.

She has a feeling about this destination, and she wonders if Beca has that feeling too. It makes her hands sweaty, and the pit in her stomach grows, but she breathes through her nose to try to keep it all down. She wonders if maybe Beca is stopping her wheels because she doesn’t want to get to where Chloe sees this going. She has  to encourage the thoughts. Because if she can do that, then maybe Beca won’t be so scared to go there.  “You don’t sound dumb, Becs. Keep going.” 

“It’s our last year together. And I was scared. And I don’t like being scared, Chlo,” Beca’s voice was cracking. 

“I don’t either,” Chloe answers. She moves to position herself around Beca so that they are cuddling, Beca’s breath against her collarbone. She is close, Chloe thinks, she is  _so_ close. “W-what,” she takes a breath to strengthen her drive, “What were you scared of?”

She feels Beca shrug. “It doesn’t make sense, I guess. Because, like, I was doing the internship. So that wasn’t scary. And telling you…that wasn’t scary either. Because you’re Chloe fucking Beale. Of  _course_ you’d be excited for me.” 

“So…” 

Beca takes a breath and it shudders against Chloe’s chest. “If I didn’t tell you, then I would have an excuse to step away from you. Because I think that’s what I was scared of. I was scared of you…or whatever.” 

Chloe is scratching Beca’s head lightly, but her fingers stop. “What does that mean?” 

“God,” Beca backs out of Chloe’s arms, looking up like Chloe did earlier. When she talks next, she fumbles for her words, not making eye contact. Chloe recognizes the shift from rambling to discomfort, and she sits up too. Beca chuckles at something she thinks of, and then grabs Chloe’s hands. “This is ridiculous,” she mutters, more to herself than Chloe. “Okay. So you know that song that you’re obsessed with. The one that I hate?” 

“Beca you literally just described my entire iPod,” Chloe grins, fiddling with Beca’s hands to hide her nervousness too. 

“Right, right. Well it’s that song, and it’s really dumb and really repetitive and I hate it a lot but it’s kind of accurate and I’m not good at saying these things so I’m gonna quote that song in all of it’s infinite pop-tween wisdom.” 

Chloe bites her lip, nodding with suspicion. 

“I like, really really really really really really like you,” when she says it, her eyes are aimed at the ground, but she doesn’t miss the way Chloe lights up. “And I fucking hate that song.” 

She feels Chloe’s hands on her cheeks, then, forcing her to make eye contact. And when she does, she realizes that she didn’t know  _every_ variation of Chloe’s eyes until now. And this particular shade…has her completely hooked. As they leaned closer to each other, Chloe’s eyes dart to Beca’s lips, and Beca thinks, for a fraction of a moment, what other shades of blue Chloe’s eyes have been hiding…and what she might have to do to discover them. 


	52. The One Where Chloe is Sad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could u do one where Chloe is sad about something and Beca comforts her and cuddles her and is just super sweet to her — sent by anonymous

Beca’s phone lit up in the middle of her full-studio meeting, hidden beneath the table on her thigh, and though she’d ignored the series of messages from the Bella groupchat (The Pitches) and a certain “Aca-husband”, when she read that the message was from “Jiggle Juice <3″, she swiped right and unlocked her screen. 

> _What’re you doing_

Her boss rambled on, trying to get the television screens to work yet again, so she quickly typed a reply. 

_At work. What’s up?_

> _Nevermind. My head’s not being too nice, is all._

Beca bit her lip, then, trying to make her grasp on her phone not obvious. Because the text was more than worrisome, and Beca considered the things that might be occurring to make Chloe break her facade even the slightest bit. Because the world might have considered Beca to be the closed-off broody one, they only did that because Chloe was infinitely better at distancing, closing-up, hiding. When Beca drew strict lines to keep her feelings tight, Chloe erased those lines completely, lowering everyone’s defenses so that they wouldn’t ever realize she needed help too. 

Because where Beca had almost permanent storm-clouds on the horizon, Chloe was the sunshine girl. She was the girl who cried through her tears, or danced, or sang, or ran. Chloe was never the cut, she was the band-aid, decked out in Disney princesses or something of equal swagger. And though Beca knew that Chloe had her own set of stormy voices, neither she nor any of the other Bellas ever got the chance to hear them. 

So a hint of badness or sadness or fear was enough to send Beca into a panic. Even worded to be candy sweet, it was dark for Chloe, and Beca immediately responded. 

_Chlo, is everything okay?_

And within seconds of the text’s delivery, the thought bubble appeared. 

> _I don’t know, Becs._
> 
> _Forget that, it’s nothing._
> 
> _I just…miss you._

Beca had seen Chloe that morning, slipped through her room to get to the hall shower before getting ready for work. She’d sat with Chloe the night before, throwing popcorn at the various meatheads on the Bachelorette and not-so-quietly oogling at the woman on the screen. Beca wasn’t hours away - she wasn’t even minutes away, really, and the series of texts being sent made her measure the distance to be less and less until she convinced herself that Barden was right outside the door. 

_I’ll be right there. Sit tight._

_I love you._

She tapped an unsteady beat on her thigh, the words of her boss slipping in one ear and out the other - she hardly even jumped when he hit the table twice out of frustration or shouted demands at the rest of the people at the table. She just started at the purple heart emoji Chloe had sent back and hoped that everything was okay. 

“Um,” she spoke up as everyone was gathering their binders and notebooks and heading back to their desks. Her boss looked genuinely surprised that Beca was there at all, let alone speaking up. She palmed her phone tighter, and swallowed her fear. “Sir? Well, like, not  _sir,_ like, not some old  _sir_ but like dude? Or I guess that’s not appropriate either but I can’t say mister because that makes me sound like some lollipop munchkinland kid –”

“Can I help you?” he interrupted, barely looking up from his papers, and Beca sighed, somewhat grateful that her aimless rambling was broken. 

“Sorry, that was weird. I don’t normally uh…” she saw her boss losing focus, so she stepped forward again, “Can I leave early today? Something came up…at home. Gas leak. Everyone has their mid-morning coffee…” 

The boss jumped hummed something equivalent to a positive answer, and Beca nearly jumped, pulling her hands back from where they wanted to reach for his shoulders in gratitude - damn, Chloe was getting to her - and raced out of the room with speed that Aubrey would’ve been proud of. Or annoyed that she didn’t display during their cardio sessions. 

She didn’t remember the drive home much, and when she noticed the bag of Chloe’s favorite ice cream sandwich place in her passenger seat, she briefly registered that she must’ve stopped there before pulling into the Bella driveway. 

“Chlo?” she shouted when she was in the house, already heading up the stairs to the older girl’s room. “Chlo?” 

She slipped the door opening, noticing that the room was still dark, and that the blinds that were normally pulled open at truly obnoxious times were still closed. The room was freezing - Chloe had control of the thermostat from up here - and there was a lump of blankets and pillows in the center of the bed. Beca stepped forward, putting the bag on the desk. 

Without saying a word, she slipped onto the bed next to Chloe, and even though her body was significantly smaller than the bundle of blankets that was the redhead, she wrapped her arms around the girl. Chloe’s muscles were tight, but they slowly loosened under Beca’s touch, as each breath was measured by the finger that was running up and down her arm. 

After a few minutes of that, the lump of blankets shifted and Chloe looked up from beneath the sheets, her face tired and pale and clean of makeup. 

Beca’s favorite Chloe was the make-up free Chloe that joined her at the kitchen counter around breakfast time, because she had a certain spot at the counter where the sun would shine through and cast the most beautiful shadows on her face. Without any sunlight streaming through, Chloe looked different. No less beautiful, but somehow the bouncing blue of her eyes was sharp, dark, stunning but still. 

She offered a weak smile to Beca, the one she always shot out with an embarrassed laugh when she was crying. Beca pressed a hand to the other girl’s cheek, letting a tear fall on her thumb. 

Beca was a girl who couldn’t handle tears. She hardly cried herself because she didn’t know what to do, and she had a history of just offering an uncomfortable pat on the back before slowly backing away when other people cried. When Jesse failed his American History course, she texted Benji to take care of it. When Emily had her first terrible frat party experience, she sicced Chloe on her (and Chloe, who understood Beca at this point in their friendship, gave the lost girl instructions to go to the kitchen and make a pot of tea - Beca listened, because the look in Chloe’s eyes told her that by the time Emily and the redhead met her at the counter, all tears would be out of sight and the time for inappropriate dry humor would be present). So it was never something she really understood, this ability she had with Chloe - Chloe, the one human on this planet who wasn’t  _meant_ to ever cry. There was no discomfort, no lack of direction. Every move Beca made with sad Chloe felt as right as the moves she made with happy Chloe. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she offered, her voice barely above a whisper as her thumb traced Chloe’s cheek. 

“I think I want to lay here,” Chloe answered, “I think I want to lay here with you holding me for a little bit.” 

Beca nodded, pulling the girl closer. “That I can do, Beale.” 

And she asked no more questions, because she didn’t need to. Because the silence was comfortable, her body was warm, and she’d fallen asleep entirely too quickly wrapped around Chloe’s body.

When she woke up, it was mid-afternoon, and Chloe was braiding her hair. 

“Shit, I’m sorry I fell asleep,” Beca stuttered, and Chloe laughed. Her look was brighter, and the sunset was pouring into the windows so that Beca could meet her second favorite Chloe: the one after their lazy Saturday naps slipped between fashion and wedding shows, when the sunset spread darker shades on Chloe’s face. 

“You needed it,” Chloe said easily, “I needed it too.” 

“D-do you want to talk about it now?” Beca asked, scared that bringing up the subject might cause the sad Chloe to come back. The other girl just shrugged, a fragment of her shadowed self coming out for a half of a second. 

“I’m more scared than it looks, Becs,” is all she said, and she said it as if she were ordering Chinese food. So simple. So surface. But Beca grabbed Chloe’s hand. She didn’t entirely know what the redhead was talking about, but she knew it didn’t entirely matter. 

“You’re also world’s braver than you think, yunno. You’re like…” Beca made a blowing up motion around her face, “A supernova, Chloe. The universe doesn’t know how to fight against you. Don’t forget that none of us stand a chance when you’re around, okay?” 

Chloe bit her lip, nodding, and Beca felt ridiculous, then, so she shifted quickly, racing to the dresser. “Also, ice cream is for the bravest of the souls, you know.”

“Oh really?” Chloe said, wiggling an eyebrow, her eyes lighting up again (and she  _really_ was beautiful, Beca thought). 

“Oh yes, it is a proven fact, so scoot over Beale because we’ve got to tackle two cartons by the end of the night.”

Beca wasn’t good with criers, or sad people in general. But she was good with Chloe, and Chloe was good with her, and though that fact was mindboggling, she didn’t really want to question it. 


	53. The One With Hairspray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bechloe prompt idea: Hairspray au where Beca secretly has a huge crush on lead Corny Collins Snow dancer Chloe! — sent by anonymous

Beca pretended like she wasn’t slightly speed-walking on her way home, her small legs propelling her too fast to pay attention to the other pedestrians on the sidewalk, the two trashcans she nearly fell into, and the bum again the city’s bank who had whistled as she passed - her school skirt undoubtedly flying up in response to the wind and spurring his cheery spirit. 

She pretended like the puffs of breath she was currently trying to be casual about as she practically hop-scotched up the porch steps were common, and the curse word that flew out when her key didn’t immediately fit in the lock was necessary. 

Any and all signs of excitement aimed towards the show that she was queuing up on the television were signs that she refused to acknowledge with anything but casual, superficial disinterest, because if she forced herself to think about these things, then she would have to admit that she had spent the last two periods at school thinking about the closing song on the last Corny Collins Show and how it’s bubblegum tune ebbed and flowed to the twist of Chloe Beale’s skirt or that she sang Chloe’s last solo song as she was getting ready this morning, picturing the eyes that almost overtook the television, sparkling with a friendliness that Beca couldn’t even begin to comprehend being able to contain. 

This was  _not_ her show,  _not_ her game,  _not_ her music, and if anyone asked, she was racing home to listen to that Dylan record and the raspy sounds of his poetic protestations. If anyone asked, she wasn’t nodding along to Corny’s intro music, and she didn’t squeal slightly when Chloe popped onto her screen - all colors and sunshine and bright smiles to quickly say between winks and bounces “I’m…Chloe!” before the next boy introduced himself. 

But at the end of the day, at the end of every day, she spent the evening humming the Corny Collins songs to herself, through chores and homework and over the beats and notes of what her records played until her father told her to turn the damn thing down and go to sleep, or at least study, because if she wanted to sing, she’d do it at church and church only…and reverend wasn’t a big fan of her mashed-up rock-a-billy nonsense. Beca sighed, picking the record off of the turn-table and hugging it to herself, running her fingers over the grooves and looking up at her ceiling. 

If she closed her eyes, she could see Chloe dancing, her smile, her “I’m…Chloe!” and if she left them open, she could feel this buzz under her skin as she looked at the girl’s head shot. 

It wasn’t a crush, it was a “obsession with a god-awful tween television show” (according to her father) and an “ownership over the title of the biggest fan of a girl that Beca only  _wishes_ she could be friends with at school” (according to her best friend, Stacie, whenever she joined Beca in her room to see the picture). It wasn’t a crush, it was an embarrassing love of an embarrassing vice, and that vice just happened to have Chloe Beale invading all of her dreams with shy, excited smiles and the rock of her hips. 


	54. The One Where Chloe is Jelly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealous Chloe please!!! — sent by soooinlovewithher

It was bad enough with Jesse, but, at least, Chloe could calm herself with the recognition of a numbness in Beca’s eyes when they touched, or the progressive absence of anything other than occasional platonic pecks on the lips - this,  _this_ was worse, and Chloe  _knew_ it would be worse the minute she saw Beca’s pinky finger start nervously tapping against the table when Komissar approached. It was a classic Beca move, paired with a tightened line of her lips, and it indicated that she was trying to control her response in some way or another towards whatever was in front of her. And it was worse because what was in front of her was an impossibly tall German woman with cheekbones that could split rocks. 

And Chloe wasn’t a jealous person, not by any stretch of the word, always willing the happiness of others before herself, because, really, it always felt good to do so - in a totally self-serving kind of way. But Beca Mitchell and her nervous flutters, throwing blushes that weren’t aimed at the redhead, biting lips in thoughts that weren’t about the Bella co-captain, hitching breaths and stuttering hearts and blubbered words  _not_ caused by the super senior…they built a heat in Chloe’s chest that she couldn’t shrink. 

“What the hell was that, Becs?” Chloe asked when the woman was out of sight, turning to face the clearly flustered girl. She tried to control the way her eyes flashed when Beca just squeaked a “Nothing. She’s really in my head” and turned around. 

Frankly, Chloe didn’t know what to  _do_ with jealous. She could handle anger, enjoyed the way that it felt healthy sometimes to tear at things and people and situations; and she could handle sadness, the way it hollowed you out so you felt clean again. But jealous? Jealous was poisonous, spreading throwing her muscles, tensing her up and convincing her that every hour Beca was late coming home, it was the result of a romp with a Treble-boy or a German woman or a stranger in the street that invariably and undoubtedly  _was not her._ The worst part about jealousy was that, where anger was satisfying and sadness was disinfecting, jealousy was  _sexy._ It was hot and heated and pushed thoughts into Chloe’s head at night that she couldn’t throw out. 

And she was realizing the sexiness of jealousy, the way that Beca would leave in the afternoon for a trip with Stacie and Chloe’s mind ran to extremely disturbing images or the or how she had to physically lock herself in the bathroom to prevent herself from intervening when Beca started dancing on and/or with one of the random DSM members during the riff-off. It was embarrassing, it was breath-taking, and it was really too much to handle. 

“You’re going to…” Chloe hit her spoon against the cereal bowl, “You’re going to go to the study with Emily today?”

“Yeah,” Beca said noncommittally, which Chloe appreciated because she was  _right_ there was _nothing_ suspicious about that. At least, that’s what her rational, in-control, healthy mind told her. Her jealous, can’t-get-that-German-woman-out-of-her-head mind was creating ridiculous situations wherein Beca and Emily ended up in the recorded Titanium and  _god_ Chloe needed to start running an extra hour or something because she had entirely too much time on her hands for this over-active, envious imagination. No matter what, she needed to do something, she determined, when Fat Amy scooted beside her at the counter, nudging her arm and saying, “Emily’s just a little Joey in her Mama-roo pack, Chlo, so cool your lady bits because that’s vulgar.” 


	55. The One With the First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bechloe: First Kiss :) — sent by anonymous

If Chloe was anywhere near rational, reflective thought-processing at this moment, she would be in love with the fact that they were kissing for the first time in the birthday card section of the dollar store. 

Every time she imagined it, there was a Hollywood glimmer over the scene. Chloe would be wearing a floor-length sparkling gown, or maybe a cute jumper from the fifties, and everything would be painted in black and white. It would start to rain when their lips touched, but they wouldn’t care, and the violins would zoom the camera out until all the couple was was a dot in the streets of Paris or New York. 

But here, now, with Chloe in a pair of Aubrey’s running shorts and a tank top, and Beca donning an oversized shirt from the summer day care her mom shipped her off to when she was five, she was still clutching a glittery card for Amy, and Beca dropped the basket of gag gifts they’d picked up so that the stuff went scattering at their feet. They both smelled like the sweat of a Posen-run rehearsal - Chloe knew that her hair was frizzing with the humidity - and there was cereal dust on the edges of Beca’s lips. And it was about as far as one could get from a flawless movie moment. 

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t perfect.  _Aboslutely_ perfect. Because Chloe loved the way that Beca still tasted like Reese’s breakfast cereal, and the card she was clutching was so crushed by the end of the embrace that she had to buy it - meaning that they had a perfect souvenir for the occasion. And because this was _Beca_  – torn jeans, ear spikes, has-never-had-sushi-but-wants-to-live-in-LA  _Beca –_ and a candlelit dinner or a trip to the beach would’ve have felt right. There was no build-up, no clear intention, starting with Chloe singing a broadway song under her breath as she read through the cards and squealing when Beca (who was supposed to be looking for streamers –  _though we aren’t PTO moms, Chlo_  she’d muttered) suddenly grasped her at the hips and turned her around, taking a breath and saying, “Just, like, don’t hate me for this dude,” before pressing her lips to the other girl’s. It caught her off-guard even though they’d been dancing around this for months, and Chloe smiled into the kiss, now, because it _should_ catch her off-guard. Because everything about Beca Mitchell has caught her off-guard - from her voice, to the way she looks in the morning without makeup, to the scandalous tattoo she has on her hipbone (because when you have a duet in the shower, you kind of have to make note of what you’re working with), to the fear of balloons - and it was only  _right_ that this should catch her off-guard too. It was only right that Beca, who had made every mundane aspect of her life into some new opportunity for  _special,_ was turning this average corner of the dollarstore into Chloe’s favorite place in the world. It was only right that she was kissing this woman, who, herself, was a quiet landmark deserving of awe that it never receives. 

They separated for a second to catch there breath, and all at once the rational, reflective thought-process flooded through Chloe. It was perfect. It was  _absolutely_ perfect. And she couldn’t stop smiling, though she’d recognize the wince on Beca’s face. 

“Was I that bad?” Chloe asked with a wink, her voice shaky still. Beca was surprised by the words, by the actions, and the nervousness lining her features eased up. 

“You’re not…” she scratched the side of her head, “You’re not mad? That I…did that? I mean…I didn’t think you were ma–…I mean, you didn’t seem like you were ma–…I just…you know…with the Bellas and the friend thi–”

Chloe cut her off by leaning in again, grabbing Beca’s face with both hands and forcing eye contact before kissing her for the second kiss, which wasn’t a black-and-white violin-swelling rain-falling moment, but was about just as perfect as the first. 


	56. The One Where Jesse Walks In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So how about Chloe and beca start messing around whilst Bec is still seeing Jesse and he walks in to find them showering together — sent by anonymous

They were friends - best friends - and sometimes best friends got close. Sometimes best friends shared a bed, or cuddled, or linked arms in public. Those were things best friends did - at least, that’s what Beca gathered through the years she spent watching poorly scripted after-school specials. 

She was fairly certain, though, that best friends didn’t  _share_ a bed, tangled in limbs and sweat and very un-best-friend-friendly proclamations of affection. And they might have linked arms in public, but Beca assumed they didn’t use that as an excuse to get close enough to whisper un-best-friend-friendly things in each other’s ears - things that would lead to finding secluded parts of the courtyard wherein one would perform un-best-friend-friendly activities until they heard someone nearby. 

Yes, Beca Mitchell was the queen of rationalizing, denying, and repressing the truth of a situation, but she was pretty sure that the things she constantly thought about Chloe - whether at Bellas rehearsals or in Ancient World Literature 103 - were not best-friend-friendly, and the fact that she was now acting on those thoughts was decidedly the absolute opposite of best-friend-anything. So she’d leave their heated encounters, all woozy-legged and smiley-faced, telling herself that she might be a cheater now (a title she hated… _hated_ …because she could hear even now the fire with which she used it when she was talking to her father years ago) but that would be the last time. 

But Chloe would bite her lip during dinner, or run circle’s over her leg at Bella movie night, or say something so innocent with a special twist of the tongue to make it sound  _just_ suggestive enough to make Beca lose her breath, and Beca’s vow would disappear completely. 

There were a lot of “last times” with Chloe Beale, and though Beca hated to admit it, she really,  _really_ liked her “last times”. 

Which was why she didn’t oppose when Chloe walked over to her after rehearsals, planting her arm on the piano so she was hovering over the smaller girl, with a glint in her eye that Beca’s body immediately responded to. The redhead reached to wipe a drop of sweat from her brow. 

“Cardio’s a bitch,” Beca explained, careful of her words, but Chloe grinned more. It was part of the game they’d developed, somehow, this moment where Beca fought off her advances until she couldn’t any longer. Chloe hummed, looking down briefly. 

“Maybe,” she said, “But the workout makes a warm shower so much more inviting, don’t you think?” 

And Beca was putty, always putty, in Chloe’s hands after that - not even fully aware that they’d made it back to the dorm or into that infamous place where they were first…properly introduced…to one another. She remembered stopping a few times along the way - she remembered  _needing_ to stop, as if if she didn’t have her hands on Chloe the other girl might disappear completely - but the journey there, or the words that were whispered on that journey, were long gone from her mind, and the only thing should could focus on was Chloe. 

So, it was understandable, then, that she didn’t hear the hum of someone else in the bathroom - and she didn’t recognize that hum and it’s low and friendly buzz, until it broke mid-tune to shout her name. 

“Shit,” Chloe whispered, pulling away as Beca scrambled awkwardly, unsure of the best thing to do and settling for trying to remain as still as possible - as if inaction could somehow render her invisible. 

“Beca, what the fuck?” Jesse said from behind her, and Beca’s shoulders tensed. 

She was very much not invisible. And, she thought for a sinking moment behind the terror and embarrassment that was pulsing through her  _still_ very nude body, she didn’t think she could play the whole “She’s my best friend and we’re really close” card this time. 


	57. The One Where Beca is A Cuddle Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> beca as a cuddle monster (friends turn to something more) — sent by anonymous

The first time they watched a movie together, Chloe was surprised at the ease with which Beca grabbed her hand, swirling circles in her palm. From the way the girl tended to shy away from touch, the last thing Chloe expected was the press of Beca’s head against her shoulder, or the tangle of their legs under the blankets. 

Beca herself was surprised, actually, because she’d never been a hugger and the last time she cuddled, she assumed, was in the hospital the day after her birth. If that. But with Chloe, it was easy, thoughtless - she didn’t even realize when she was doing it until the mint of Chloe’s toothpaste was invading her senses and the only thing Beca wanted was to get more of it. 

“I’m honored, yunno,” Chloe admitted halfway through the movie, and Beca shifted to look at the other girl in confusion. “I mean, Beca Badass Mitchell is cuddling with me.” 

Beca scoffed. “I am  _not_ cuddling,” she said incredulously. Chloe raised her eyebrows. 

“Yeah, okay,” she answered, and Beca hated the way she loved the smug grin that was rising on Chloe’s face. 

“Maybe,” Beca started, pressing her head further into Chloe and turning her body so that she was completely wrapped around the other girl, “Maybe I hate movies, and was hoping the cuddle would distract you enough to turn this bullshit off and let me go to bed.” 

Chloe laughed into Beca’s embrace, feeling the girl squeeze her tighter. “So you admit you were cuddling?” 

At that, Beca held her even tighter, shifting so that she was lying completely on top of Chloe, pinning the other girl’s hands to her sides. “ _That_ was not cuddling. That was distraction. From the golden age of Hollywood and it’s plethora of continuity errors that is gracing the screen.” 

Chloe huffed, laughing and squirming under Beca’s grip. 

And it was all a joke, really, this whole cuddle monster act that Beca had taken on, but there was a breathiness to Chloe’s voice the whole time that was sending a continuous shiver down Beca’s back, and if she kept moving - throwing a tickle or two in to keep the game up - then she could push away that little chill and twist of her stomach. So the mistake she’d made was in grabbing Chloe’s face, holding it still to announce her victory. Because Chloe’s eyes are watery from laughter - turned bluer than Beca thought possible - and her cheeks are bright pink, and she’s biting her lip, and she’s watching Beca bit her own lip, and…

And it was all a joke, really, this whole let’s-make-out-with-our-best-friend act that Beca had taken on. It was all a joke. Yeah. 


	58. The One Where Beca is Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> beca is sick and starts sleep talking about how much she loves Chloe and Chloe overhears... — sent by anonymous

“Mmm, Chlo,” Beca’s voice was laden with cough medicine, her words so heavy they slurred together to keep up, “You’re a great nurse.” 

Chloe chuckled, drawing circles against Beca’s back. The smaller girl was splayed on her bed, donning an oversized sweatshirt despite the intensity of her fever. “Am I?” 

“Yesssss,” Beca sighed into her pillow. Chloe always loved a drunk Beca, who never shied away from her touch as much as sober Beca did, and tended to pull her brow into a quizzical look every time she tried to say something. Sick Beca, however, was something else entirely. And although Chloe hated to see Beca sweating off a fever, her face a pale shade of green-blue and her throat cracking constantly, she’d quicken fallen in love with the magic of some Robitussin and Mrs. Beale’s hot tottie recipe, as the mixture of cough syrup and whiskey turned Beca into a burning ball of cuddles, giggles, and unfiltered conversation. 

It was almost like hanging out with herself, Chloe though briefly, except this version of herself was tiny and adorably confused. 

“You’re tha best nurse, y’kno that?” 

Chloe had started spelling lyrics on the other girls spine. 

“Exceps,” Beca muttered, pausing for a second. 

“Except?” 

“Exceps,” Chloe heard the girl smack her lips. Her voice was nasally because of the stuffed nose, so the attempts at breathing were laughable. “No nurse’s outfit.” 

Chloe pressed her smile down, unable to control the blush that rose on her cheeks. Beca Mitchell had a thing for nurse outfits. This was new information. 

“Becs,” she said, laughter edging into her voice, which she tried to keep to an innocent and motherly tone, “I think it’s time to sleep.”

“Mmm,” Beca agreed, moving to press her back further into Chloe’s front. It took a wiggle of her hips to do so. (It really  _was_ like hanging out with herself, Chloe thought again). 

“I love you, Chlo,” Beca said, her voice getting quieter and quieter before dropping to a hum. 

“Do you?” Chloe asked, continuing the pattern of their conversation, trying to keep a light mood so her mind couldn’t convince her to overthink the words. 

“Yesssss,” Beca said easily, “I really, really do.”


	59. The One Where They're Cuddle Buddies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BeChloe prompt please: Beca and Chloe had agreed to be cuddle buddies after Beca broke up with Jesse and they both seem to be enjoying it quite a lot, more than just the casual 'cuddle buddies'... — sent by anonymous

It was innocent, Beca told herself every night when she brushed her teeth to the tune of Chloe’s mindless singing in the other room, totally and completely innocent - just the presence of a best friend to help her get through the night, because, even though she’d stopped mourning the end of her relationship, she always did have trouble sleeping, and Chloe was always there with a ridiculous amount of body heat and a truly stunning ability to snuggle into Beca’s side perfectly…It was honestly better than any Ambien trip Beca had been on, and that’s why it was innocent, totally and completely innocent. 

And, though the amount of time she spent convincing herself it was innocent was probably was enough to indicate that it wasn’t, in fact, innocent, Beca sank into that rationalization night after night, morning after morning, when she found her legs tangled into Chloe’s, her cheek against the girl’s collarbone, her shirt always half-ridden up and her stomach twisting as the sound of Chloe’s small puffs of breath. 

It wasn’t until finals week that she couldn’t force herself to believe the innocence, with summer peeking through the calendar and a lack of air conditioning in the college dorm rooms. 

“What’re you doing?” Beca asked nervously when Chloe sat at the edge of the bed, inching her pajama shorts down. Chloe looked up with a grin, the kind that always said “Oh, Beca, Beca, Beca” in a mock-chastising tone. 

“Becs, it’s May in Atlanta. If you think I’m sleeping with pants on, you’re insane.” 

“Ookay,” Beca muttered, turning away and pushing herself beneath the blanket, trying not to think about the half-naked girl that would be joining her in a matter of moments. Chloe leaned forward, putting her chin on Beca’s hip - she always was a friendly toucher, but Beca flinched at the contact. “Please tell me you’re not planning on sleeping with those sweatpants on, Beca. The bed is gonna be drenched by morning.” 

Beca sighed, shifting so Chloe had to move her chin, and pushed the blankets further up as protection. “I get cold,” she said simply into the pillow. Chloe laughed at that, inching her way up to the pillow and pausing for a moment before tapping Beca on the shoulder with the tip of her nose. It was their signal. Beca turned to face Chloe, who was dangerously close to her face, and quickly ducked her head into Chloe’s chest. The redhead wore a smile on her face - she always did - and hummed contentedly, pulling the edges of the covers over her as Beca felt the smooth expanse of her legs pressed against her own. 

“Sleep tight,” Beca muttered, irony lacing her voice. 

“Don’t let the bed-bugs bite,” Chloe answered, nipping briefly on Beca’s ear before sinking into the mattress further. 

And, really, the motion should’ve alarmed Beca more than it did, but Chloe smelled like mint and citrus and the aloe of her nightly face wash, and the scent told Beca’s body that it was time to sleep, so she drifted off easily. 

Until 4:58 am, when Chloe’s groan slipped into her dreams, and she woke up with a start, feeling the way the other girl’s sweat plastered her cheek onto Chloe’s chest. It was hot,  _really_ hot, and when Beca made a move to extract herself from Chloe’s gripped, she was surprised to feel cold air brushing on her stomach. Chloe moaned again, a deep, guttural moan that sent a series of shivers down Beca’s spine, and suddenly she was both freezing and burning at the same time. Somewhere inside her panic, she felt Chloe run a finger up her back, and she shuddered in response. 

“Chlo,” she whispered, hoping to wake the girl up so she could at least shift away, or, at most, slip out of the bed and into the shower or out on the quad, because she was shaking and she didn’t want to think about why. Chloe only hummed, slipping a leg between hers, and that’s when she realized there was skin pressed against skin. Somewhere beneath her feet was the crumpled up sweatpants, though she never remembered taking them off. 

“Beca,” Chloe whispered, her tone  _so_ unbearably suggestive that Beca almost forgot to breathe, “Beca, please.” 

And Beca squeaked, her heart pumping through her chest. 

But, like, it was innocent. 

Totally and completely innocent. 


	60. The One With the Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, BeChloe prompt: a sad one... Beca writes down her feelings for Chloe which she thinks she would never reciprocate. Chloe finds Beca's notes... — sent by anonymous

_t should just be in the front pocket_ was what Beca had said when she asked Chloe to stop by the dorm to pick up the choreography notes she’d forgotten for Bellas rehearsal that afternoon, but when the redhead found Beca’s bag (after silently praising the heavens that her God-awful roommate wasn’t there to sue Chloe for trespassing), it was filled with nothing but a few throw-away recents, a half-eaten bag of Cheetos, the remains of a crushed up piece of gum, and a few meticulously folded pieces of paper. 

Chloe never considered herself a snoop - she’d always politely defined her instinct to push privacy boundaries (think: shower curtains and a strangely satisfying duet of ‘Titanium’) as rabid curiosity - which was why she didn’t hesitate in the slightest to open the papers; they could, after all, be the notes she was looking for…so it’d be silly, really, to not make sure. 

The edges of the papers were faded, as if someone had run their hands over them habitually, opening the notes more than a few times, and when Chloe opened the first one, she was met with the chicken scratch that Beca called cursive - it was clear by the first line that these weren’t choreography notes (“But I just want to be positive,” Chloe told herself when she read on).   

 _I don’t really know what this is. I mean, I_ think  _I know, but I don’t_ want  _to know. It’s dumb. And the only person I want to talk about it with is her. The only person I_ can  _talk about it with is her. Which makes me a fucking idiot. Because the only person I can’t tell is her._

Chloe furrows her brow, and she’s not sure why, but she feels sick. Dizzy. She sits on the edge of Beca’s bed, ignoring the piles of dirty laundry beneath her. Quickly, she flips to the other note. 

 _I don’t really think I can deny it anymore, yunno? Journals aren’t my thing, but like, writing it down helps, I guess. It’s less scary when it’s not all in my head. Except when she does that_ thing,  _that little purse of her lips when she’s thinking about what she’s gonna say next. We went to get sandwiches today, and I kept watching her do that. I don’t know why I’m so scared that she might’ve noticed…._

The writing was scattered all over the pages, interspersed with notes for her Intro to German class in tinier writing or squeezed into the margins, like she was trying to force the thoughts into the smallest corners of her mind. Chloe thought the sweat on her hands was making the note damp, and her mouth was dry, and there was something addicting and terrifying about the words that she couldn’t bring herself to put them away - even though she knew that this was  _way_ past her “curiosity” allowances. 

_I was actually gonna tell her, because I’m an idiot and a dork and I thought after she listened to my mixes she’d kinda proved that she wouldn’t mind too much if a freshman on the edge of her radar had this little crush on her. Knowing Chlo, she’d find it endearing. Too much confidence, that girl has. I fucking love it. Damn._

^^ _I didn’t just write that…._

Chloe smiled at the added annotation, pausing briefly to look at the hilarious cartoon Beca had drawn of Aubrey in the middle of verb conjugations - she’d never show the Bella captain, of course, but it was scarily accurate - and she was laughing when the door opened. 

“Oh, Chlo, I texted you that I found the bind –” her eyes trailed to the notes in Chloe’s hands, her expression matching that of the one she wore when Chloe’d pulled back the shower curtain months ago, “What’re you doing with those?” 

“Learning German,” Chloe quipped quickly, and, really, she didn’t know where that had come from, but she had been caught and the instinct was to use the blue of her eyes to feign innocence. 

“Chloe,” Beca warned, stepping forward - and Beca was a small girl, but the face she wore scared Chloe senseless. “Are those my notes?”

Chloe nodded, biting her lip. She half expected the girl to slap her - she never could hold her anger right - but instead she watched Beca sink into the bed with a sigh and a wince, avoiding the other girl’s eye contact. 

“So, yeah, that’s a thing,” was all she said, gesturing to the chicken scratch. “Sorry, uh. I have it under control though. Things don’t have to be weird if you don’t want them to be…” 

“What?” Chloe is surprised by the genuine tone of surrender and casualness that Beca’s words take on. She feels a smile ghosting on her face, but pushes it down. 

“I highly doubt I’m the first human to have a crush on Chloe Beale,” Beca reasoned, “And you don’t have to worry, because I’m sure it’ll pass. And you’re graduating soon, anyway, so really…I just don’t want you, like, telling the Bellas, because…yunno, rejection’s a bitch, but mocking is worse and –” 

“Becs, you’re an absolute aca-idiot,” Chloe giggled, moving her hands so that the notes fell to the floor, The smile couldn’t really be pushed down anymore. “I attacked you in the shower. Gave you  _special_ choreography lessons. I’ve called you hot on several occasions, and I wasn’t exactly sleep-touching the night we got too drunk to get from my dorm to yours. You know that, right?” 

Beca looked small, impossibly small, and shy, and scared, and Chloe felt a rush in her chest for this version of the girl - not built of stone, but molded with clay and easily breakable. She was beautiful. And Chloe liked her.  _A lot._

And she vowed to convince Beca of that by morning, no matter what it took.


	61. The One That's OITNB Style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Chloe and beca are in an oitnb style prison because Chloe smuggled happy pills to nationals via becas suitcase and duh they got caught. But Jesse is being the total dbag boyfriend and blatantly cheating on beca with kimmy jin so beca finds comefort in Chloe. — sent by anonymous

“You could always be wrong,” Chloe says quietly, lightly scratching Beca’s head - the smaller girl was practically sitting in her lap, their backs pressed against the white brick wall, heads resting on each others shoulders - she was trying to give Jesse the benefit of the doubt, not because she particularly enjoyed the  _reason_ why the weight on Beca’s shoulders lifted slightly on visitor days, but because it made her physically ill to see Beca broken. She’d once been the cause of the face Beca was making now, and at the time, in the court room with Beca sitting next to her father’s lawyer, she vowed to never let her make that face again. “I mean…Kimmy Jin has, like, next to no personality. I’m about 99% sure she’s a robot, actually. Which…compared to you…I just don’t understand why he would…”

“Compared to me?” Beca squeaked, shifting to look at Chloe and curling her fingers around the buttons on her jumpsuit - and Chloe let out a breath, surprised that that was the comment Beca wanted to elaborate on, considering she’d been rambling aimlessly for about an hour about the whole situation (which was shocking in and of itself, because although Chloe certainly knew how to talk someone’s ear off, she’d never been a person capable of bad-mouthing people…the hardness, Beca guessed, was a natural side effect of their beautiful new home). 

“Duh,” Chloe rolled her eyes, pulling Beca in closer, “You’re aca-awesome, Becs.” And Beca groaned, pressing her face into Chloe’s collarbone to hide her smile. 

“Dude, you need to stop making acapella puns if you don’t want to get shanked in the shower or some shit. Not that you’re unfamiliar with some unwelcome shower guests,” she muttered, and Chloe laughed, feeling the shake of Beca’s ribs as she joined in, and it felt nice - it really did. 


	62. The One With the Watermelon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok bechloe prompt: they are already dating, and beca comes home rly drunk and chloe was waiting up for her and beca is like "omg hey chloe i forgot you lived here whoa is that a watermelon" and shes all drunk n clingy etc and she literally cries bc watermelon and chloe has to get her to bed and change her and unco-operative/clingy/asleep!beca and then they cuddle ok thats it also ur blog is nice — sent by anonymous

Chloe wakes up to an infomercial about some hair remover and Beca crashing into the edge of the couch, a move that the tiny girl sinks into, bending at the torso to melt into the cushions until Chloe’s knee nudges at her forehead and she jumps up in alarm. 

“What the…” Even those two words were slurred somehow, and there was an adorable confusion to her tone that Chloe couldn’t resist smiling at. Quickly, recognition passed over Beca’s stare. “Chlo, shit, I forgot you live here.” 

She started laughing then, her body - still half-flung off the back edge of the couch - moving forward to latch onto Chloe’s, and when her sweaty hands reach Chloe’s face, the redhead is practically drunk off the remainder of alcohol on Beca’s breath. “Jesus, Becs, did you, like, bathe in vodka tonight?” 

“No,” Beca says very seriously, her eyes trying to focus on Chloe’s face, but even Chloe can tell they’re clouded. “That wouldn’t be –” her thought was cut off when her eyes spotted the kitchen table. “Fuck, s’that a watermelon?” 

With a quickness that surprised Chloe, Beca pushed herself off of the couch and used the edge of the wall to steady herself until she could throw herself - again - onto the kitchen table. She picked up the watermelon, turning towards Chloe, who was slowly following, and pointed at it, her mouth wide with excitement. It was unbearably adorable. 

“Watermelon!” she squeaked excitedly. Then, just as quickly as she picked it up, she put the fruit down, turning towards the drawers and rummaging through them. 

“Whatcha looking for, babe?” Chloe bit her lip, enjoying the way drunk Beca forced herself to be serious. 

“Knife,” was all she said in response before she huffed out a “aha!” and turned to her girlfriend with the weapon in question. Chloe’s grin was gone in a second, and she rushed over the Beca, putting her hand carefully on the girl’s wrist and slipping the knife out of her loose grip. “Let’s, um, let’s save the watermelon for tomorrow, yeah?” 

Beca nodded, and Chloe assumed the ordeal was over, but when she tried to walk away, Beca clung tightly onto her waist. She thought she heard a sniffle. 

“Becs?”

Beca shifted, looking up at Chloe with red-rimmed eyes. “I really wanted that watermelon, yunno.” 

Chloe sighed, patting Beca’s head. It was going to be a longer night than she’d expected when she got the text that Beca was going out with Amy for a couple of drinks. 

“Come on, Beca, let’s get you changed and to bed, okay?” She pressed her hand into Beca’s back, pushing her towards their bedroom. Beca only hummed, pushing her entire weight onto Chloe and playing with a strand of Chloe’s hair that had fallen from her loose bun. The bedroom was a few steps away, and not too hard to get to even with the weight of a small, drunken alt-elf in her arms, but getting to the drawers to pull out pajamas was much harder. Finally, she set Beca down on the bed, nudging her arms up to lift her dress off. When it passed over her head, Beca let her arms drop, collapsing again on Chloe, giggling and kissing her collarbone with a shocking amount of vigor for a girl this far past sober. Chloe forgot herself for a moment, leaning into it before pulling back, or at least trying to, finding that Beca may be small but her grip was ungodly strong. 

“I’m drunk and naked and I coud-n have my watermelon,” Beca pouted, pressing more kisses into Chloe’s neck and moving to gain leverage over the other girl - it was sloppy and uncoordinated, and Chloe really wanted to make sure Becs got some water in her so she could sleep off the hangover (that’s what she told herself she wanted, anyway). “So by law you haff to sleep with me, Chloe Beale.” 


	63. The One With the Experiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bechloe 'experimenting' together for the first time- beca is nervous, Chloe convinces her (bcus she knows beca finds her really hot, uses it to her advantage) How far they go is up to you! — sent by anonymous

“Hey, Chlo? Were you serious about the…” Beca wasn’t looking at Chloe, fiddling with the tent’s zipper instead as the rest of the Bellas tried to pack everything into the bus - Chloe tried to hide the smirk that was rapidly growing at the way Beca was somehow both ghost-white and blushing  _profusely_ , and she raised her eyebrows to push Beca’s question onwards, “The whole…yunno…the experimenting thing.” 

“Well,” Chloe shrugged noncommittally, though the wink she shot at Beca (and the way she bit her cheek afterwards, trying to hid the knowing smile that was threatening to burst through) indicated she knew exactly what part she had to play - they were sitting cross-legged, knees touching already, and when Chloe put her hand on Beca’s thigh, the other girl nearly hit the tent’s roof with how high she jumped. “I mean, we’ve already seen each other naked.” 

“That’s not - that’s…” Beca was choking on her words, trying not to watch the hand that was moving imperceptibly higher on her leg, her skin suddenly burning, “That was three years ago…it’s not like - well I mean…and you  _bombarded_ me so it was like…” 

She was rambling, she knew it, and Chloe grinned even more, reaching her other hand up to push a strand of Beca’s hair behind her ear - she was really enjoying this whole deer-in-headlights act  _way_ too much - before huffing casually, “I’m just saying. We’ve already gotten that over with. Three years later and I’ve yet to hear a complaint about…” she paused, wiggling her hips from where she sat in a familiar motion, quoting that meeting perfectly by saying, “all of this. So why not…give it the old college try?” 

Beca averted her eyes trying to peek through the tent’s entrance to check on the other Bellas - all more than a few yards away, packing up the bus. When she turned her head back to the conversation that was making her heart pump at a ridiculously rapid rate, Chloe’s nose was nearly touching hers, and she was smiling in that over-eager, classic-Beale way, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and yes, Beca definitely had  _no_ complaints about  _all_ of that except for the unpleasant way it shoved unwanted images in her head during the Chloe-led choreography parts of Bella rehearsals or induced asthma-like symptoms when they sat too close on movie nights…

With the look Chloe was giving her, Beca suddenly felt like the redhead could read every one of her thoughts, and, because she was quickly forgetting how to operate like a normal human being, she would’ve sworn this entire thing was just a very weird, soon-to-be-repressed dream if it weren’t for the way the hand inching up to the hemline of her shirt wasn’t sending every one of her nerves into panic mode. 

“Oh,” was her only response to Chloe’s words, her touch, her look, and the other girl smiled into the kiss she pressed against Beca’s lips, which should’ve felt weird, but actually felt right. _Really_ really right. 


	64. The One With The Cheating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt! Established Bechloe. They are busy with both their careers and barely have time for eachother. One gets drunk and cheats on the other. — sent by anonymous

Chloe’s mouth is unbearably dry and there’s a pulsing in her temples that thumps conveniently to the beat of her cell phone, which is vibrating on the nightstand - and when Chloe decides to open her eyes, everything still has that bleary haze that descended somewhere over the course of the night; despite all of this, she can recognize the unusual emptiness of the room - the absence of what Beca had proclaimed “God-awful Green” paint and the lack of ridiculous selfies they had taken to get framed to accompany several album covers on the walls - and it’s this recognition of blank white that is the first stirring indication that something very bad happened last night. 

The lump next to Chloe on the bed grunts, and Chloe notices immediately that the sound is not familiar, that the lump is much larger than the tiny woman she normally woke up to; her stomach sinks, but she reaches for the phone before she can think. 

“Chlo?” she hears Beca’s voice on the other end of the line, can almost taste the worry that lines her name when Beca says it (and it tastes, Chloe thinks, an awful lot like too much tequila and last night’s cheap dinner coming up again…her stomach grumbles), “You didn’t come home last night, and I…” she hears Beca’s voice break, and it breaks something in Chloe too - this was once the girl who was so protective of her heart that she only answered texts with one word, who never woke up before 11 am, the girl who always scoffed at romance movies because “they never cover what happens when one person gets sick of the other and pfft, moves on just like that”…This was Beca Mitchell, calling to ask where she is because they’d missed out on cuddling last night… “Chlo, I miss you” … This was Beca Mitchell, calling to say she missed her, after less than 24 hours apart, and instead of throwing up, Chloe broke into a sob, because this was Beca Mitchell, and she fucked it up. 


	65. The One Where Chloe Graduates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yooooo anna!!! when you get the chance, I have a bechloe prompt for you: beca attends chloe's graduation — sent by puppycormierr

She was radiant, despite her fear - because, Beca knew, there was fear, an overwhelming, shaking kind of fear that she wasn’t used to seeing in the redhead’s typically confident eyes…a fear that said “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here, how the hell I got here, or where the hell I’m going next, and for once in my life that scares the shit out of me” - standing up on the stage after shaking the dean’s hand, she was radiant, despite her fear, her smile stretching from ear to ear as her eyes scanned the crowd, undoubtedly looking for family members but stopping on Beca, who sat in the far back wearing jeans and a concert t-shirt, and winking. 

It made Beca blush, that wink and the shock in the older woman’s eyes that Beca was there at all, and Beca hated herself for the grin that was taking over her face, goofy and uncontrolled and completely  _un_ Beca, but when she looked up, Chloe was still looking at her, grinning too, before turning and walking off stage - and Beca couldn’t help but think that the last thing Chloe Beale did as a Barden student was wink at her…

“You’re here,” Chloe said after the ceremony, bypassing her family and their demands for pictures because she  _knew_ Beca would try to sneak out if she didn’t catch her first; Beca shrugged, embarrassed, and tried to look anywhere except for Chloe’s impossibly blue eyes, but Chloe squeaked at the adorable feigned casualness, pulling Beca in for the tightest of hugs, as if the embrace would ground Chloe there, would keep time from moving and plans from unraveling. For a moment, it did all of that, and Beca could breathe into it, and it felt good. Then, there was a tapping at her shoulder, and a grandmother who wanted pictures, and Beca slipped out unnoticed, pulling at the hem of her shirt nervously. 


	66. The One Where Beca Sleep Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi I have a prompt for bechloe☺️ Can you please do one where beca sleep talks and it wakes Chloe up and everything beca says is either funny or doesn't make sense? 

“As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death/I take a look at my life and realize there’s nothin’ left” were the words Chloe woke up to, her hair plastered to her head with sweat - sharing a dorm bed in the middle of the summer might not have been the brightest idea, admittedly, but, shit, Chloe’d spent all year working Beca into a comfortable enough place to accept an innocent sleepover, so she wasn’t going to turn down the chance. 

She’s grateful she didn’t, she thinks with a flush and as she notices the way their limbs are completely tangled together, and she wonders briefly if Beca was completely conscious when she decided - somewhere over the course of the night - to take her bed shorts off…she assumes that the gibberish coming from Beca was plenty of indication that the other girl was quite active in her sleep and wasn’t fully aware of her near-nudeness…although she was aware…she was  _very_ aware…she shook her head quickly, forcing away the shiver that was moving up her spine.  

“Cuz I’ve been blasting and laughin so long/That even my mama thinks that my mind is gone,” Beca muttered again, her cheeks rosy from the heat, and Chloe bit her lip to keep from laughing, instead indulging the sleeping woman by tapping the beat to Gangsta’s Paradise on her hip…mostly to resist the urge to take her phone and film it all, knowing that the other Bellas would kill to see little badass Beca Mitchell reciting Coolio in her sleep. 


	67. The One With CHILDREN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are you accepting bechloe prompts? Because if so I wanted to suggest a fluffy minific with grown up bechloe in their own apartment and beca and Chloe are having a date night while their kids are with Aubrey — sent by anonymous

“Beca?” It was a nightly routine, and one that Chloe hated to love and loved to hate, to burst through the door with arms full of lesson plans and reports to grade only to find that two tiny humans had latched themselves onto her calves and another was quickly scooting across the floor to follow - it was a nightly routine to leave the chaotic sounds of school for the chaotic sounds of traffic for the chaotic sounds of a mixtape blending in with baby cries and the table being set - which was why, when Chloe walked towards the door to their apartment and heard nothing but her wife’s humming and a few clatters of dishes, she was more than a little afraid. 

* * *

“In here,” she heard Beca huff from the kitchen, and she dropped her stuff at the coffee table before turning the corner, looking into the kids’ bedroom on the way only to find it completely empty. 

“Beca, where are the–” her question was cut off by two hands wrapping around her waist, and she felt the familiar weight of her wife’s head resting in the space between her shoulder blades. 

“Aubrey,” was all Beca said as an answer, taking Chloe’s hand then and turning her around. Through her confusion, Chloe grinned, noting the kind of courage it must’ve taken Beca to call her best friend and ask for that favor - she always loved to watch the kids, but it always came with some critique of the other girl’s lax parenting or the dangers of non-organic peanut butter on the development of their brains ( “It’s no wonder her kid is afraid of, like, dust particles,” Beca would mumble after play-dates. She smiled, then, that wry smile she tended to pull when she messed with Aubrey way back when. “Bella said he jumped ten feet when she hissed at him” to which Chloe only responded with a chastising tone, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree”). 

The kitchen was clean - a miracle in itself - and lined with candles, despite Beca’s minuscule fear of fire, with two plates set. Beca distanced herself from Chloe, holding her arm out to display before uttering a meager “Ta-da” like she was already partly over the entire night, or maybe just embarrassed at how much work she’d put in. 

Chloe had no words, only staring with her mouth open and her eyes sparkling in that way they did when she couldn’t fully comprehend the luck she’d had in handing that flier out to an alt-girl all those years ago. “What did you – why did you…?” 

She was flustered, searching for words, which made Beca relax a little, throwing out a tiny, non-committal shrug before saying, not without  _loads_ of irony, “You gotta keep the magic alive, right?” 

Chloe bit her lip to control the insane smile that was spreading over her face, but she couldn’t help racing over to the other side of the small kitchen and wrapping the other woman in her arms. “I’ve got the best wife in New York City, you know.” 

“Yeah?” Beca grinned, fiddling with Chloe’s collar. It was cute how, after all this time, she still seemed so uncertain with her movements - not uncomfortable, not by any stretch of the imagination, but still cautious, like a fifteen year old boy who didn’t want to say or do the wrong thing. Chloe pressed her forehead against the other girl’s. “Yeah,” she said, before her stomach grumbled, announcing the beginning of dinner. 


	68. The One Where Beca's In Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promt: Beca alone telling herself she probably doesn't have a crush on Chloe and maybe it's just her mind messing with her, until she sees Chloe again and is like "just fuck me up" — sent by anonymous

The problem was the mixes, she told herself, they all had a taste of Chloe in them – whether it was the vocals from a track she sang, utterly slammed, two weekends before on a rickety chair or the beats from the songs they did cardio to, Beca always stuck around or behind Chloe – and if she spent all day listening to her mixes, well, then,  _naturally_ she’d be spending all day thinking about Chloe…

Beca bit her pen cap until it broke, staring at the courtyard before zeroing in on a redhead sitting on a towel yards away; if it wasn’t the mixes, then it was obviously this goddamned campus – of  _course_ she would be thinking about Chloe all the time if she was actually  _seeing_ Chloe 24/7…

It made no difference that Beca hated being outside, but preferred to study in this courtyard ever since she realized on nice days Chloe liked to lay out in this more secluded courtyard, almost always pushing the straps of her shirt to the sides, her hair in a messy bun, freckles peeking out one by one as she tanned…No, it made no difference at all…Until Beca found it hard to swallow when Chloe decided to turn onto her back, lifting her shirt to reveal dimples near her hips, thinking she was dying of a heartattack when Chloe reached up and waved…Then, admittedly, the whole crush thing was harder to deny. 


	69. The One With the Prank Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh never mind that isn't a mini fic prompt. What about Beca and Chloe trying to prank call Aubrey? — sent by 22-fall-in-love

As Beca heard the phone ring, she watched the familiar glint in Chloe’s eyes – that way she seemed to be perpetually winking somehow, with that fluttery bite of her lip – which was why she didn’t immediately respond when the other girl suddenly took the phone from her ear and shoved it in her personal bubble, saying in one excited breath, “I can’t do this. You have to.” 

Beca rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t contain her growing smirk, as she took the cell phone and pressed it to her ear, muttering something about how she’d thought they’d graduated middle school by now before freezing when she heard the familiar trill of Aubrey Posen’s greeting. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Beca cleared her throat, taking on a lower tone with a Southern accent but losing it almost immediately at the squeal that Chloe let out in response, “I’m just confirming your order for 13 exotic male dancers for next week…”

 


	70. The One With the TV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look, IDK the pairing but how about a classic sort of prompt for the Bechloe ship; arguing over what to watch on a Saturday night. Any ship can do that! — sent by claudia-donovan-clone

"Beca Mitchell,” Chloe popped out from behind the small TV, twirling an HDMI cord in her hands, “Do you want to explain to me why all the wires have been pulled out of my television?”

“The movie gods decided you tortured me enough this semester,” Beca muttered from behind the mix she was working on, “And you have yet to watch that clone show I told you to check out…”

“I do musicals, dramadies, and rom-coms,” Chloe listed, walking towards the bed, “Sci-fi is  _not_ my thing.” 

With Chloe standing over her, Beca finally took off her headphones, shifting so that there was room for the other girl, “Movies  _aren’t_ my thing,” she argued, adding without thought, “Besides, there’s pretty ladies in this. That’s reason enough.” 


	71. The One With Ice Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i thought of a prompt ahem: bechloe + ice cream is this a good prompt idek but i really like ice cream — sent by emilyjunklegacy

“You’re…um,” Chloe laughed, putting down her plastic spoon and taking Beca’s wrist, moving the other girl’s ice cream cone to her lips and licking the edges, where it had started to drip; Beca had been starring at something just past Chloe’s head, lost in her own world, and the sudden contact immediately pulled her back to reality, accompanied by a blush that spread from her neck up to her cheeks. 

Chloe winked easily when she noticed Beca’s shock –  _my God she needs to stop doing things like that –_ letting go of the wrist and plucking the cherry from the top of her sundae. 

“So tell me, Badass Beca Mitchell,” she said, breaking the silence as she twirled the cherry stem between her fingers, “Were the extra sprinkles  _really_ worth forcing me to flirt with that poor worker?” 


	72. The One Where Beca Has OCD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Beca suffers from really bad OCD and Chloe is the only one who knows as she is Beca's girlfriend, Beca has a breakdown in Bellas rehearsal and no one but Chloe knows what's happening — sent by anonymous

“There should be nine chairs,” she says quietly to herself, and even that - even her voice - sounds wrong. Garbled and strangled under pounds of syrupy water. “There should be nine chairs but there’s - one, two, three, four…” 

She feels paradoxical. 

Floating above the room somehow, looking at the tops of each of the Bellas’ heads and counting the scratches in the floorboards. She is shouting at herself to stop, because she can see what they’re thinking when she runs her thumb over the palm of her hand repeatedly, hard enough to turn the skin raw. She can see them blanching, wincing, stepping back in shock when she snaps. But, floating outside of herself somewhere near the ceiling vent, she can see the chair that’s missing. 

And while she’s floating, she’s aware that it’s small. A tiny glitch in the everyday operations. The chair isn’t even necessary - was always just an extra in the corner of the room. 

When she gets to eight, she turns again. “There should be nine. One, two, three, four…”

But she’s not just floating. In fact, that part of her isn’t attached to her at all. The part that is is, impossibly, falling. Hurtling within layers and layers of cement and incapable of pulling herself up. She feels like a train, trapped on a railroad and incapable of swerving, because if she does - if she stops rubbing the pad of her thumb raw, stops biting her lip until it bleeds, stops counting and re-counting the chairs - then she’ll slip off the track and fall off the ledge and something that exists beyond even the darkest parts of her imagination will happen. 

If she breaks, it all breaks. 

The cement she’s falling through will crack into a black hole and she’ll be sucked into it, carrying the other girls with her. 

“There should be nine ch–ow!” 

The hand on her shoulder is jolting in every sense of the word. It’s pain. It’s stinging and pins and needles and bee stings. It’s a plastic bag around her head. When she shakes it off, it stay, like a stuck sea urchin. 

“N-n-no…nine…there should be nine…” 

The hand squeezes. Underneath the weight of her voice, another cracks through. And where Beca’s was cracking and rasping and rough, this one is smooth. Clean. Light. 

“Becs,” she says, and Beca feels it wiggling a hole in her cement tumble. “Becs!” 

It’s sharper this time, enough to cut through the count, which makes Beca’s stomach lurch like she’s  _actually_ falling off a cliff. 

“Beca, babes, look at me,” the voice continues, and it sends signals down to the hand on her shoulder to pulse out a message. “Look. At. Me.” 

She doesn’t turn - can’t turn - doesn’t even, actually, fully see it as an option for her next move at all, but the hand forces her to, pushes her to break away from the chairs completely, and for one second, Beca feels the blood rush to her eyes as she gasps for breath, suffocating. 

Then, silence. 

Stillness. 

In a hurtling off-rail train. 

Chloe has pressed Beca into her, wrapping her arms around Beca’s head to push her into her chest, resting her cheek on the top. The Beca that is floating can see the way Chloe’s muscles tighten - the way she is struggling to keep her close, and the way Beca is fighting to break away. It takes four and a half heartbeats for Beca to realize, with a sudden, shocking breath, how tired she is. 

The result is immediate. She deflates, incapable of fighting and allowing herself to fall headlong through the cement and melt properly into the arms that are forcing her still. 

“There should be nine, Chlo,” she says weakly, and with her voice pressed into the pink cotton of Chloe’s shirt, she thinks it sounds less torn. Stronger, if only slightly. She’s shaking. Twitching. Off-balance. “There should be nine.” 

The arms around Beca’s head loosen, bending enough for Chloe to start to run her fingers through Beca’s hair. Her nails press lightly, massaging. “I know, Becs. I know. It’s okay.” 

The floating Beca slips back in, latching itself back to the girl when Beca takes a shuddering breath, and it makes her able to lift her head just slightly. She realizes she’s crying. “Yes. Right.” Her forehead leans against Chloe’s chin. “Right. Right. Okay.” 

Chloe shifts just enough to press her lips to Beca’s forehead, her hand’s still brushing through Beca’s hair. “Shhh,” she says once, kissing her forehead again, “Okay. Okay. Shhh.” 

\--

“Beca?” 

The voice only registers like she’s underwater, and she can see her name inside the bubble of air that carries it, but she can’t seem to pop it. So she keeps scrubbing. There is a burning climbing up her hand and into her arm, but she likes the way it cools everything else off, like she’s dipping her arm in ice that is so cold it’s on fire. It’s caustic, and that’s good. Better than good. It’s right. Because fire burns the edges off and leaves things smooth. Clean. Breathable. 

“Beca?” she hears again, this time noticing that it’s a touch closer. Somewhere, she’s aware of herself lowering her head. Somewhere, she’s aware of the way she hides her face behind her hair. Which means that somewhere she knows that what she’s doing should be stopped. Somewhere she knows that this is her glitching. 

But that somewhere is nowhere near close enough, because in the forefront of her vision there are rough edges screaming and scratching and pressing up against the edges of her temple. She scrubs harder, because she’s fighting the urge to peel off the skin around her forehead and let the pounding out. She things that the rhythm matches the way her eyesight is pulsing - in and out and in and out - from a pinprick to 20/20 and back again with blurring along the way. 

Then, there is a hand on her shoulder, and she moves to respond to it with nothing but the basic instinct of that pounding in her head. She ducks out of it, holding the plate close enough to her that she feels it stab into her palm. 

It happens in slow motion.

It happens in fast forward. 

And then everything pauses, and Beca glances down at her hand, which is covered in water and bubbles and blood. The red is sharp against the white porcelain of the sink; there is something mesmerizing about the way it slips down the drain, and Beca watches it as if she’s trying to understand what the color red could even mean. As if she wasn’t  _feeling_ red just moments before she became a transparent shade of blue. 

“I dunno what to do, you do something,” she hears CR mumble. It is enough to crack her out of the haze, but only slightly, and she raises her head to see five pairs of eyes watching her warily. 

She thinks, then, that the fact that she’s hearing them all as if their underwater makes sense. Because she knows, based on the way her lungs constrict, that she must be drowning. 

“Okay, Beca, can you hear me?” Stacie waves a hand in front of Beca’s face. She flinches at it, surprised to find that she’s crying when she regains her equilibrium. The quick motion makes the other girls jump back nervously, and Beca can’t shake the feeling that she’s been transplanted to this strange laboratory where they’re watching her reactions and testing her responses. “We need to get this cleaned up,” Stacie says slowly, but she still seems so far away. “And check to see if you need stitches.” 

When she reaches out to try and touch Beca’s bleeding hand, Beca holds it close to her, staring up at Stacie with distrust. 

“Beca, it could get infected,” she explained. The words were jumbled though. “We need to get it covered at least.” 

“No,” Beca said weakly. She didn’t know why the word came out of her mouth - was certain, in fact, that it wasn’t her that actually said that at all. But she felt the need, the impulse, to say it again, and so she tried a little louder. “No.” 

Stacie sighed, setting her shoulders. “Okay,” she said slowly, “Fine. You know what? Whatever.” 

CR put a hand on Stacie’s shoulder, shaking her head lightly as Beca looked back down at her hand, which was starting to stain her shirt. “It’s cool, Stace,” CR said, “Chlo’ll be home soon anyway. Let’s just…get her up to bed or something.” 

Chloe comes home forty-seven minutes later to a broken plate and a counter of girls sitting for her commands. It takes her two minutes to run upstairs, and less than a minute to find Beca leaning up against the side of her bed on the floor. 

Beca had had enough time to breathe, counting each breath in fours to slow down the way that her mind was throbbing. There was blood creeping out from where she was worrying a hole in her lip, and she still held her hand to her chest although it was wrapped shoddily in an old towel after Stacie fought her to cover it up. She had been sweating, but was now too cold, shivering and chattering her teeth in a way that brought back the throbbing. Carefully, Chloe reached out, brushing a knuckle over Beca’s jaw. At first, Beca bristles at the contact, but leans into it. It is warm. It is smooth. It is solid and unwavering and in it she finds some kind of ground. When she breathes again, she shakes, shudders, and starts to sob. 

“What happened?” Chloe asks quietly, and somehow her voice breaks through the water enough to crash against Beca’s shoulders, forcing her to fall into Chloe’s arms for support. “Beca?” 

“It just…” she started, squeezing Chloe tighter, “It just…happened again…and I…I don’t know…” 

“Okay,” Chloe breathed. She started to run her hands through Beca’s hair, drawing circles with her fingers from the back and up to the front in a steady pattern. “Okay. Shh.” 

“Chloe,” Beca mumbled, sniffling. “Chloe, I’m so embarrassed.” Chloe’s hands stopped for a second, pressing down to hold Beca closer. 

“Becs,” she said softly. “Beca Beca. You’re okay.” 

“I cut my hand,” Beca argued. Chloe pressed her cheek into Beca’s forehead. 

“I know, Sweets,” she said, “I know. It’s okay.” 

“No it’s not,” Beca muttered. 

“Yes,” Chloe said, shifting so that they were comfortable in each other’s arms. She breathed once, twice, three times and watched Beca try to match the steady rhythm. “It is, Beca. It’s okay. Tell me it’s okay.” 

“It’s okay,” Beca said, though her voice was shakily, weak, and unconvincing. Her hand was started to throb in pain, searing and suggesting that it’d been like that for a while without her noticing. She took a second to steady herself, then tried again. “It’s okay.” 

“Mmhmm,” Chloe hummed. She pressed her lips to Beca’s temples, the touch enough to silence everything in that small space. “It is. It is. It is.” 

Then, a touch quieter, she said, “You are. You are. You are.” 

 


	73. The One Where Jesse's Two-Timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey if you're still doing prompts: Beca is dating Jesse and is invited to a party where she sees him with another girl (aka Chloe). Then Beca is furious at him and dumps his ass in front of everyone and quickly leaves and Chloe, shocked and mad, also dumps him too. Then Chloe rushes after Beca and offers her a ride home and an awkward talk ensues. Bonus: Chloe sings "Before He Cheats" by Carrie underwood. — sent by anonymous

“Who the fuck are you?” 

The words are shot like spitballs into the back of Chloe’s head, and when she turns around immediately, she throws an instinctual “Aca-scuse me?” in the direction of the voice. 

Jesse fumbles with the twisted hand around Chloe’s waist before he turns around too, offering up a weak, “Beca…hey…” 

“Are you going to fucking explain yourself?” 

The expletives are coming from a short woman, donning a forest green tank top and flannel, torn skinny jeans, and braided hair that’s just rumpled enough to look slept in. Despite her height, she makes Chloe feel small, somehow, standing there in her skin-tight top, her hair perfectly curled with an un-erasable twinkle of a smile at the corners of her eyes. 

Chloe tries to blame this on the language she’s using. 

“Okay, let’s calm down,” she tries, using the hand that’s free of a red solo cup to give some sort of universal signal for placation. “Um, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for…this outburst. Anyway,” bravely, Chloe puts a hand out in the other woman’s face, “I’m Chloe.” 

The girl nods once, her lips pursed in a sarcastic smile. “Golly great for you, Chloe. I’m,” stops to turn her gaze on Jesse, refusing Chloe’s offer for a handshake, “Beca, the girl who’s dumping your boyfriend’s cheating ass.” 

“Y-you’re…” Chloe uses her outstretched hand to turn it into an accusatory point, turning again on her heel to Jesse, “S-she….dumping?” 

She jumps when she feels a hand slap her on the back, accompanied by a voice in her ears that says, “Your turn.” 

And when the hand leaves, she can hear Beca’s shoes clack against the ground - largely because the party seemed to have stopped at the hint of any drama at all, but Chloe thinks, for a fraction of a moment, it’s only loud because her head wants to follow it out the room. For some reason or another. 

So she dumps him, in so many words. Well, doesn’t completely  _dump_ him, but throws the remnants of her jiggle juice in his face with a humph, and then scoffs “Aca-children my ass” with her arms crossed. Sure, it could’ve been longer. More drawn out and dramatic, because while Chloe’s not a big fan of heartbreak, she likes partaking in the dramatic arts every once in a while. But the clack of Beca’s shoes was echoing in her head, and there was something back there that hinted if she could get this done quick enough, she just  _might_ be able to hitch a ride home. 

Which would be more than a little nice. Because she just threw her  _very_ alcoholic drink into her original ride’s face. 

“Hey!” she shouts into the parking lot the minute she steps outside. It’s cold, and the fog that forms around her lips when she talks does nothing to blur the silhouette of the girl - now shivering - kicking the door of her car. “Hey, hold up!” 

When Beca looks up and sees Chloe, she says several variations of strings of curse words the Chloe would find impressive if she didn’t consider it so insulting. By the time she reaches the beat-up Santa Fe that the girl’s been kicking, she can just barely make out a “are you fucking kidding me?!” 

“What do you want?” Beca snaps, her lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Um,” Chloe takes a breath, because while asking for favors from strangers wasn’t exactly her area of weakness, Beca seems more volatile than she’d realized. “I…threw a drink in my ride’s face. Because…he was a cheating mother fucker.” 

And, okay, she  _very_ deliberately put that final piece in there to show Beca that she wasn’t a totally pure and uncool individual, and, okay, she  _does_ feel a little justified in it when she sees that Beca has raised her eyebrows nearly to her hairline in some mix of impressed and shocked. “So…” 

Beca starts, like she was just caught doodling in class, lifting her hands from the hood of the car. “Right! Okay. A ride. For the mistress.” 

“Okayyy,” Chloe interrupts, putting her hand up, “Let’s not play that game, hmm?” 

The other girl rolls her eyes, and Chloe watches her tap her keys against the palm of her hand a few times, considering. “Fine,” she says finally, “Get in.” 

“Do I have to abuse the vehicle in some way to get it to open it’s door, or was that just for show,” Chloe feels her nerves melting a little, like her body is starting to remember how inebriated it is. She watches Beca roll her eyes again. Without saying anything else, they both open the car doors and slip in. 

The car is old, loud, and rickety as it passes over the potholes lining the street, and each time it happens, Chloe watches Beca vow to herself not to wince. The determination for what is inevitable failure is cute. 

“A drink in his face?” she finally says over the silence and the rumpity-bump of the car. Chloe laughs, letting the clouds puff out on the window. “Good move.” 

Chloe shrugs. “Wish I coulda gotten a hit in there. A nice slap to the face for proper cinematic effect.” 

Beca, who was biting her lip, looks over at Chloe and grins. “He’s all for cinematic effect.” 

When she closes her eyes to chuckle, Chloe shakes her head. “I was dumb. The signs were kinda there the whole time.” 

She counts the potholes between Beca’s response. One. Two. Three. 

“Yeah, well, I’d say he was….significantly dumber.” 

“Two public breakups in one night at a party the whole school was at, though,” Chloe starts drawing stick figures on the window. It would’ve bothered Beca, too, she can tell, but when the other girl doesn’t say anything, she continues. “If he hasn’t learned his lesson, the whole female population of Barden has, at least.” 

“A girl can hope,” Beca mutters, re-fixing her hands on the steering wheel. 

One. Two. Three. The potholes continue. 

When they stop at the stoplight, Chloe breathes. She’s not entirely sure where it comes from, but she feels it bubbling in her chest, and she smiles. “ _Right now, he’s probably slow dancing with a beach blonde tramp and she’s probably getting frisky…”_

She watches Beca -  _feels_ Beca - look at her with a furrowed brow of disbelief, but inside the small grin quirking at her lip, Chloe finds encouragement. “ _Right now, he’s probably buying her some fruity little drink cuz she can’t shoot whiskey.”_

Beca sighs dramatically, but it only gives way to more of a smile. 

On a girl who’s makeup brand is anger and sarcasm, it looks good. 

“ _Right now, he’s probably behind her with a pool stick showing her how to shoot a combo….oh and he don’t know…”_

When she stops to fully look at Beca, she is biting her lip, her eyebrows raised. 

One. Two. Three. 

And she can feel the chorus  _breaking_ from Beca’s chest, watches her shudder, before the other girl cracks out with, “ _Oh, that I shoved my keys into the side of his pretty little suped up for wheel drive.”_

_“Slashed a hole in all for tires. Maybe next time he’ll think…”  
_

Beca comes in to re-sing the line, hitting the notes in a raspy way, with throat filled with whiskey, “ _Maybe next time he’lllll think…”_

The light they’re stopped at turns green, and Beca’s car growls before Chloe says, lightly, almost too sweetly for the song, “ _Before he cheats.”_

When she stops, she counts four potholes. Beca shakes her head. “You’re really weird, Chloe.” 


	74. The One At the Art Museum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you write a minific of Chloe realising her unrequited love for Beca in the middle of a 'Bella Bonding Outing'. Kudos if it's an Art Gallery or a concert. I just really want to support your angst campaign of Bechloe :) — sent by anonymous

Bellas Bonding Time was an official chunk of everyone’s Saturday dedicated to “the enrichment of the sisterhood bonds that have tied every generation of Bellas together irrevocably”. They took turns picking places to go - being dragged to bra fittings by Stacie or to WWE smackdown events by Amy. Every time someone’s turn would roll around, the Bellas could - for the most part - figure out where’d they’d end up. 

Beca was the most predictable though, always choosing a quiet space at the edge of a park nearby, because “you guys say I have to do this stupid shit, and my doctor says I need more vitamin D, so I’m rolling two into one”. The first time she took them there, it was clear she didn’t have a set plan, leading the group into the park with her laptop and parking herself at the corner of the pond as the other Bellas fond ways to entertain themselves (which, on the whole, was actually kind of a genius bonding activity…set a group of girls free in “nature” and see how they choose to occupy themselves for the better part of an hour). 

That was why the entire group was confused when Beca walked past the entrance to the park, skipping over it hesitantly, her hands twitching on the side hem of her jeans like she wasn’t sure she could pass the barrier. She stopped in front of the white marble of the art museum, squeezing her hand into a fist and throwing her thumb out towards the entrance. “Roam free, young patrons,” she said, her voice dripping in sarcasm. 

Pushing past confused faces, Stacie was the first to walk in, plucking a map from the shelf and setting off on a “tour of society-deemed-acceptable nudes”, which, needless to say, attracted the attention of a few other Bellas too. Lilly immediately moved to gawk at the modern art piece entitled, “Doll Hairs and Baby Teeth: An Exploration of the Disintegration of America”, while Amy started a conversation with the curator about the merits of flatulists as performance artists. 

Which left Beca and Chloe standing at the entrance, and a moment of silence wherein Chloe felt Beca’s eyes trail over her form. 

She took Chloe’s hand, rubbing it between hers to keep it warm before heading into the Monet exhibit with bright eyes and a side mutter of “I  _doubt_ you’ve ever been here before”, because one afternoon three months after they met, Beca saw Chloe sitting outside the art museum with a notebook in her hands. She explained then, with the discomfort of small talk at a party, that it was a thing she did every Wednesday - a means of adding a splash of color to her life, so to speak, because everything always felt so light and thin and sometimes a deeper vibrancy was needed. She remembered how Beca stood at the bottom of the steps, staring up at Chloe as she tried to explain herself and nodding in agreement. Chloe never asked why Beca was there, quickly scuttling off when Beca scratched her head and grunted a simple, “Yeah, I totally agree.” 

Walking through the room, now, Beca absentmindedly ran her hand along the blank white spaces on the wall, while keeping her other hand firmly attached to Chloe’s. The lights blended into the silence of the room, building a buzz that seemed to hum through Beca as she looked back at Chloe excitedly. 

She’d been in this exhibit more times than she could count. Monet, of course, was Chloe’s mom’s favorite, and in the moments when she needed that inexplicable cure-all of her mom’s hug, she’d stand between the paintings and breathe in the smell of turpentine and canvas and try to ignore the sick feeling in the space above her belly button that told her to start painting again. She’d tack that feeling to her mother’s voice - a gentle but present nag. 

Now, though, with Beca holding her hand, the room felt different. The lofted ceiling seemed to make way to blue sky and clouds, and she felt the chilly air conditioned room almost take on a steady breeze. She thought, somewhere between the mutters and flutters of the other visitors, that she could hear trees rustling and water rippling, and, if she closed her eyes, she knew she’d feel - somehow - like she was right there next to Beca at the park, her hand ghosting over the other girl’s on the grass. She wasn’t sure how Beca did it - this mental teleportation thing, this game of turning one room into a dream place just by standing next to Chloe - but she felt it around her now, and it took all her control to keep her eyes open enough to watch Beca. 

Because the other woman was performing some kind of ritual, standing and staring at the paintings for an exact amount of time before taking a step closer, then a step closer, then a step closer. She allowed her nose to nearly touch each painting, allowed her eyes to inspect every brush stroke, before stepping back again and squinting. 

Chloe realized, then, with the kind of shock that jolted you into another dimension, that the Monet Exhibit was not the right place to think about Beca’s eyes, and the way they blended every color into one to tell a story - every story. And the sculpture gallery was not the right place to think about Beca’s form, and the way it curved and sloped in smooth white lines and pink kisses.

No, the art museum was not the right place to think about Beca Mitchell. It made the paintings around her seem so much duller. So much blanker. So much more unworthy.

“I want to see it all,” she explained when she felt Chloe’s stare on her, “The up-close mistakes and the far-away figures. It’s only a masterpiece when you can see both happening at the same time. You know?” 

And Chloe thought:  _Yes. I know._

And Chloe thought:  _Shit. I know._

And Chloe thought:  _This is going to be trouble. You are going to be trouble._

And Chloe thought:  _All the best works were._

And Chloe said “totes” with a smile that beamed through the room and reflected off the brush strokes, squeezing Beca’s hand once and turning to the painting behind them. 


	75. The One In Tasmania

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I stumbled across your minifics on AO3 and migrated to read more them here, they're fantastic! Here's a prompt if you're still taking them: Amy somehow convinces the Bellas to visit her in Tasmania. Hijinks ensue and in a bizarre series of events involving a eucalyptus tree, a sheep and a rugby team, BeChloe reveal their feelings to one another. — sent by anonymous

“Okay, explain to me who the fuck those dudes are and why they look like they could literally sneeze and blow us all away.” Beca was tired, scratching at the edge of her temple with a sigh. Between jetlag that wasn’t capable of leaving her tiny body and the full day of traveling they had had searching for “The Tree of Acapella Music” - dubbed by Amy because it was the precise tree she stood under when she was inspired to audition for Fiddler on the Roof ( “Why isn’t it just the tree of Musical Theater, then?” Emily had asked on the carride there, to which Amy responded, “Because without the inspiration for that audition, the acapella world wouldn’t be aware of my aca-godliness. Don’t take this the wrong way, aca-child, but you’re the dumbest person on the planet”). 

“That would be the meaty Taroona Rugby Club, and I’ve called dibs,” Amy said under her breath, sauntering up to the men and give them all an individual up-down gaze, body-rolling between all of them. 

“What the actual fuck,” Beca shot at Chloe, who didn’t seem to question anything and was just looking on with interested eyes. 

“I don’t know,” Chloe said, “Maybe the Green Bay Packers started a sort of trend.” 

Stacie bent down slightly to insert herself into the conversation. “It’s true. Men’s interest in acapella - and acapella layyyyydies has increased by at least 35% since the Packers came out as aca-boys.” 

“That does  _not_ explain why we’re in Tasmania, under a fucking eucalyptus tree, with a professional rugby team and, Jesus Christ, Chlo, I  _told_ you to bring a coat!” Beca’s rant changed direction when she noticed how Chloe’s was shivering, donning a thin tank top where everyone else was decked out in winter gear. “Different hemisphere, different season, Red.” 

“Shut up,” Chloe finally snapped, her easy look becoming a glare as the breeze pushed through, “I failed maps.” 

“Okay Aca-people,” Amy clapped from the other side of the place they stood in, next to a particularly tall rugby player. “Who’s ready for a Riffffff-Offffffffff?!” 

“No,” Beca muttered quickly into Chloe’s ear. 

“Oh no,” Cynthia Rose said out loud, holding her hands up. “Not a chance we travelled this far to riff-off with those amateurs. Nuh-uh. I’m out.” 

“Wha-?” Amy’s brow furrowed in confusion. Lilly walked up to her, whispering something before following CR. 

“It’s too cold out anyway,” Stacie said, looking the boys up and down, “I need full use of this bod in order to…convey the melody best.” 

“If have the team goes, then…like…should we go, guys?” Emily pressed from beside Beca, jumping a little on her heels. She was biting her lip and looking at the glare Amy was throwing their way. 

“It’s not half the team, there’s still Jess-” Chloe looked around to find Jessica and Ashley, but somewhere along the line, they ducked out too. Beca turned around, throwing her arms up. 

“Fantastic, now we leave,” she said simply. When Chloe didn’t budge, she dropped her hands. “Come  _on_ , Chlo, this is dumb. Ridiculous even. You of all people…like…you’re  _swirling_ in student loan debt, Chloe. Why the hell did you let Amy plan a group trip to Australia for this shit?” 

“Oi, watch what you’re callin’ shit, Shortstack,” Amy shouted. The men seemed confused, but hadn’t budged from their spot the entire time the girls were filing out. Beca assumed that the athlete stereotype was just…international. 

“Beca, I mean, we came all this way,” Chloe stuttered, looking nervously at Emily and then back to Beca. “The least we could do–” 

“The least we could do??? Chloe, what the hell? Why are you so into this?”

Chloe opened her mouth to talk but closed it quickly, looking away. Her hands were on her hips, but she moved them to cover her chest when another breeze hit. 

“The quicker you answer me, the quicker we get into the goddamn van and turn the heater on, Chlo,” Beca threatened, but the girl just bit her lip, avoiding eye contact. “Come on, what’s this about?” 

“She wanted to sing with you again, Idiot,” Amy butted in, closer than she was before. Beca spun around, facing her as Chloe gasped. The sound made Beca spin again to see an outraged and embarrassed Chloe at a loss for words. 

“What?” 

“No that’s not–” 

“CR might have fallen too hard into gambling again, and the national poker team may or may not be associated closely with the Tasmanian Rugby Union, which, of course, is my main turf,” Amy patted her stomach contentedly, “So when we found out that the Penguins over here were willing to do the poker team a favor in return for some aca-fun, how could we say no?” 

“…” Beca stuttered for a second, starting her sentences and then closing her eyes and shaking her head before trying up again. “I don’t understand…you….God…you guys are insane….what…You know what? It doesn’t matter. What I want to know is why Chloe was cool with any of this.” 

“I take it back, aca-child,” Amy said, finally close enough to the three girls to put a hand on a very scared Emily’s shoulder, “You’re not the dumbest person in the world, your aca-dad is. Beca, she was willing to pay for three more years at Barden just to sing with you. You think she’s not above paying for a trip to Australia?” 

Beca turned to face Chloe, who’s eyes were filling up with tears. “No, but…she stayed because of the Bellas….And Russian lit….” 

“I’ve read Anna Karenina at least seven times, Becs,” Chloe said, her voice cracking. “And watched the Kiera Knightley movie version like…twelve times.” 

“Chlo, I’m sorry, but singing with me…like…. _really_ not worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.” 

Chloe chuckled, shaking her head. When she glanced up, she looked at Amy, biting her lip. Amy nodded once, silently, before pulling Emily away saying, “Aca-kid, have you ever met a national rugby team?” 

Taking Beca’s hands, Chloe sighed. “It really kinda is, Becs. Worth that much money, I mean.” 

Beca pulled her hands away, shaking her head. “No, no it’s really not.” 

“Beca!” Chloe said sharply, pulling Beca’s focus back in. “Whatever, that’s not important! I’m trying to tell you that I’m in love with you, so if you cut the financial talk for like, three seconds, that’d be awes.” 

Beca blinked, looking around. “W-what did…wha…um…” 

“I’m really cold, Becs,” Chloe said, desperation seeping into her voice, “And I’ve just admitted to the reason I’ve been acting like an absolute idiot for three years, so please dear God get your head together long enough to answer me.” 

“Right,” Beca said quickly, shaking her head. “Right. Right. Yeah,” she took Chloe’s hands, warming them, “I mean…same. Same. About the…the whole love thing. Same. We didn’t need to leave the country to admit that though.” 


	76. The One Where Beca is a Nanny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, Beca is nanny and plays at a park across the street from where Chloe lives and she is so cute with kids... Sooo obviously Chloe wants to have like a hundred kids with her... I feel like preggo her eggo will like this one... — sent by scrawniest-calamity
> 
> Ahh I loved the minific where Beca was a nanny. Cocky Beca is my fav especially when she flusters Chloe. Could you do a follow up of that please? — sent by anonymous
> 
> I think I might be in love with your PHE anon. Also, I finally had a fic idea! (well not finally, I mean I have them every freaking day) So ok this is set in that Nanny verse. But say Chloe and Beca decide to take the boys to a book store and Beca gets abnormally emotional reading the giving tree or something and Chloe falls more in love. or you could even do the opposite way and have Chloe read it to the boys and Beca be like damn this girl is awesome. I AM A SLUT FOR LITERATURE AND NANNY BECA! — sent by paigeroo5

Chloe had a habit of staring. Her mother used to say that it was the price she paid for having a daughter with such blue eyes - something about the color allowed her to be hypnotized by the smallest thing, throwing away the old adage of “It’s rude to stare” in favor of memorizing every facet of something without even being fully aware that that was what she was doing. It caused problems in middle school, where she was buck-toothed and maintained one long braid of red hair that stretched down to the hem of her shirts. She was dubbed “The Owl” from grade four onwards. Luckily, by high school, her features softened and her clothes shrank just enough that the staring became “just something Chloe does” with a shrug and a look that indicated she was oh-so adorable for her quirk. 

Sure, she realized that staring out the window at a playground of kids wasn’t exactly “acceptable”, by the public definition, but she had blinds and, okay, that wasn’t the _best_ argument against why it wasn’t an issue. But, in her defense, she wasn’t staring at the kids. Obviously. And she didn’t stare all day. Obviously. No, it was only during lunchtime, sandwiched between her morning summer preschool class and the evenings that she spent at the library sponsoring a public music class for children. She sat by the window, a mug of tea in hand, and watched. Because every day, at exactly 1:38 pm, a woman brought four children out to the playground in various laughable modes of transportation and sun protection. 

She was short enough to still need to jump to reach the monkey bars, but tall enough to tower over the children - four boys, all under the age of four, if Chloe guessed right. Still, at any height four boys would be a handful, and the woman spent the better half of the first ten minutes struggling to tote them all to the right place. One boy, blonde, always seemed to be talking, tugging her by her hand as she nodded intently, looking off to find the redhead boy, who undoubtedly ran off to try to climb the fence first. Strapped uncomfortably to her chest was a smaller child, about a year old and donning a sun hat that occasionally flapped up into her face. Walking (tripping) behind them, quite a few paces but never out of her eyesight, was his twin brother in an equally as ridiculous sun hat. They wore shorts that went down to their knees, and even from the window Chloe could see the way that the older boys’ cheeks turned pinker by the day under the summer sun - despite the sunscreen the woman religiously applied every half hour. 

Chloe’s favorite, though, were the days that the woman ignored the toys provided by the playground and chose instead to indulge the boys in a game of pretend. She could spot these days because they came with an extra light in the woman’s eyes, hidden behind layers of eyeliner that Chloe recognized as too thick to be fit for a mother of four but maybe just right to be that of a nanny or babysitter. Fidgeting with the piercings lining her ear, she’d squat down to be level with her colleagues and start telling an outrageous story. While Chloe missed the words being spoken, she saw in the woman’s face an energetic sort of animation that made the boys all erupt in laughter and occasionally dramatics. These days resulted in exploring - the woman would pull a paper towel roll out from her back pocket and look through it, pointing towards a part of the playground and watching the older boys run to it excitedly. She carried the babies like they were flying, perching them atop the highest bar of the playground and holding them their as they sailed a ship or steered a plane into a deserted island or over a world of glaciers. Together, they traversed through caves of monsters and into seas of gold, all the while singing songs that permeated through the glass of Chloe’s window. 

The entire time, Chloe stared. Every afternoon, like clockwork. It was her favorite daytime show, because it was lively in a way Chloe couldn’t really identify. There was a fearlessness to the woman (there has to be for anyone who watches children professionally), and an unexpected youthfulness that didn’t match her exterior of black and plaid and crossed arms. Chloe wondered, briefly, whether it wasn’t really their imaginations turning that playground into a fantastical place - because it seemed to her like a place that made a girl like that become the embodiment of uncrusted peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and  _good_ children’s music was truly a place of magic. 

On this particular day, though, Chloe wasn’t sitting behind her window with a mug of tea. Sophia H. hadn’t been picked up on time, and Chloe nervously re-organized her classroom book-shelf while waiting with the little girl for the minivan that signaled freedom. When it finally came, the sun was significantly lower in the sky, and the car was packed with apologies and excuses about older siblings and depositions, so Chloe gave a quick, “It’s totally fine” before grabbing her purse and fast-walking out of the building. 

It was a small town, or, at the very least, a conveniently located house, because Chloe walked to and from work everyday, which meant that she could cut fifteen minutes off her morning workouts, and also that a day wherein she was three hours late getting home equated to her passing by a playground full of a lively family of boys and their nanny right before the ice cream truck passed through. 

And while Chloe was a stare-r, she also managed to maintain the status of a do-er, someone who preferred action over inaction, movement over paralysis. So when she heard the bells of the ice cream truck, she ran out to stop it, giving a very specific order and paying the man with a twenty, shouting “Keep the change!”. By the time she reached the playground, the wrappers were soaking in melted popsicle coloring, and she was holding them far away from her chest to prevent spilling. 

“Napkins come in handy, you know,” she heard someone say from behind the metal gate in front of her. She looked up nervously to see the woman she’d watched from her window with arms crossed, a smirk pressed to the corners of her face. 

“Well, sure,” Chloe said with a hesitant chuckle, “But, like…Thinking ahead isn’t really my forte.” 

“Fortune-telling is, though,” the woman commented, nodding at the treats in her hand before the boys gathered around the gate with their daily whines. 

“Right,” Chloe nodded, following the woman’s line of sight to her hands. “Uh, this looks weird doesn’t it. An adult offering a bunch of little boys treats.” 

The woman raised her eyebrows. “A bit, yeah.” 

Chloe nodded again, though she felt a bit like a bobble-head. They were quiet for a moment, the other woman’s hand instinctually petting the top of the blonde boy’s head. 

“It doesn’t really help your case to say you know their order because you watch them every day, does it?” the woman finally said, and Chloe’s eyes shot up, filled with total panic. Her mouth opened, but no words came out, and, strangely, the other woman laughed at her response. She took the treats out of Chloe’s hand easily, bending down to hand them to the boys. 

“What do we say to the nice lady, boys?” 

The boys erupted in shouts of thank you before they ran off with the treats, giggling. “No running with that stuff in your mouth,” the woman shouted at them, but they kept up their speed and she responded by rolling her eyes. 

“I’m so sorry,” Chloe started, holding her hands to her face and then pulling them away immediately when she realized they were sticky with popsicle syrup. “I’m so weird. I promise I’m not –” 

“Chill,” the woman said. “It’s not like you were subtle, sitting at the window every day.” 

“God, I’m so–” 

“BUT, I’d be lying if I said I willingly came to a playground with four boys in the middle of summer every day just for kicks.” 

“What?” 

The woman was smiling, but out of the corner of her mouth, and Chloe thought that in all her days of staring she never really saw this kind of smile spreading on the woman’s lips. The full-mouth smile was reserved for adventuring with the boys, and this one contained much more amusement. Much more mischief. There was a glint in her eyes, and Chloe noticed that up close they sparkled brighter. 

“You’re not the only one keeping an eye on the neighborhood, so to speak,” the woman said easily, resting her chin on the top of the metal gate. “I’m Beca.” 

“Chloe.” 

“Nice to finally meet you, Chloe,” Beca said, finally breaking into a complete smile and throwing out a wink for good measure. “Now, did you just bring frozen treats for my little dudes or…?” 

\--

“Hey, little bud, that’s my body that you’re trying to tackle,” Beca muttered at the redheaded boy pushing forcefully at her thigh. Even though she was tiny, she didn’t budge at all at the force, pulling back the boy’s head so he was wincing at her even though he keep pushing. Chloe chuckled, wiping at the ice cream that was dripping from the other girl’s hand. Quickly, Beca turned her head to her hand and then up at Chloe, offering up a brief “thanks” before looking back at the boy. 

“You need to moooooooove,” the boy said, grunting as he threw his whole body into the act of pushing her. 

“Why is that?” Beca asked with a smirk and a tilt of the head. 

“Becauuuuuse,” he started like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “I want to sit next to the lady.” 

“Oh yeah?” Beca said. She glanced at Chloe, who was biting at her lip to force down her grin. The little boy nodded furiously. “And you weren’t going to ask me to move?” He shook his head. “Well, then, until you ask, I think I’ll stay right here.” 

Looking up through red lashes, the little boy pouted, crossing his arms. Beca matched his face, adding a few dramatics until he sighed loudly. 

“The blue one needs you anyway,” he said, his eyebrows still furrowed. 

“The blue one?” 

He pointed at the playground to where one of the younger boys was toddling around with a woodchip in his mouth. 

“Shit,” she whispered under her breath, standing up quickly and racing over shouting, “No, no, no, we do  _not_ eat the woodchips, kid!” 

The little boy took that opportunity to jump onto the bench next to Chloe. Without saying a word, he looked up at her, one eye closed in the light of the early afternoon sun. “Um,” Chloe said, her eyes darting to where Beca was fishing around the baby’s mouth for more elements of the playground. “Hello, sir.” 

“Hi,” he said shortly. His hands were curved around the edge of the bench so that his arms were hyper-extended, and he had a wide grin on his face. “Do you like fruit?” 

“I, um, I do quite enjoy fruits, actually,” Chloe answered. Her eyes were on Beca as she said it, watching the way she seemed to know exactly when the twin baby was going to get himself in trouble and racing over to catch him from the side of the playground steps. Bouncing him on her hip, she ran her finger over his lips, making a buzzing noise that quickly made him erupt into giggles and squeals. The result was Beca’s face softening from stress to glee, and she stuck her tongue between her teeth as her eyebrows raised in amusement. She glanced over at Chloe once, winking. The action woke Chloe up enough for her to realize that there was a tugging on her sleeve. 

“Miss,” the little boy was saying. He held his hand up proudly, right under Chloe’s nose, and the nearness of it surprised Chloe enough to make her jump back. “I have this for you.” 

In his hand sat the remains of a peach pit, sucked clean and dried, clearly kept in his trouser pocket until the right moment to share with someone. Chloe fought her instinct and let out a wide-eyed gasp of fake wonder. “Wowza,” she said, “That’s…that’s pretty darn cool.” 

The little boy giggled. “Hngh, yeah,” he said proudly, pulling the pit closer to himself before remembering it’s purpose and holding it up to Chloe again. “Take it! It’s for you!” 

“Oh, well, than–” 

“Hey, dude!” Beca bounced up to them then, interrupting Chloe just as she was about to pick up the pit. One baby was balanced on her hip, playing with the star necklace around her neck and occasionally tugging at her earrings. Beneath the floppy sun hat, Chloe could just barely make out the button nose that matched wide eyes and swirls of white-blonde hair - hair that matched his older brother, if she guessed right. He seemed absolutely at ease in Beca’s arms, nuzzling closer to her and tucking his legs in to get tighter. “You hittin’ on my lady?” 

“She’s not  _your_ lady,” the little boy said, his hand immediately closing over the pit and shoving it close to his chest for safe-keeping. 

Beca raised her eyebrows. She was close enough to brush at the little boy’s hair, trying to pulling it out of his eyes, but he shook his head indignantly sending the hair back in it’s original place. “You know, this is the most I’ve seen you speak, kid.” 

In response, the boy crossed his arms. 

“Hey, I get it. The stubborn, broody rebel act works on girls,” she said easily, “We’ve got that strategy in common, dude.” 

Chloe laughed, fiddling with her hands in her lap and the hem of her dress. There was droplets of ice cream on it, but she didn’t mind much. Her cheeks were burning either from the direct hit of the sun from where they sat or the implication behind Beca’s words, and she tried her best to find a method of conversation that might steer them away from this course, but Beca seemed hell-bent on pulling the blush as far down Chloe’s neck as possible. 

Chloe was entirely positive that before today she didn’t have a weird Mary Poppins affinity, but…

…Well, it was besides the point anyway. Because Beca Mitchell was no Julie Andrews. 

“Still, it’s nearly dinner-time, and I’m almost off-the-clock, so what do you say we both leave Miss Chloe and see if she’ll be here tomorrow?” She was still brushing at his hair, her cheek pressing into the baby’s head. 

“Will you be her–”

“Politely….” Beca reminded, and the little boy groaned, throwing his head back. 

“Miss Chloe, will you be here tomorrow, please?” 

Chloe looked up at the nanny, her smile matching that one that the other girl wore. Beca looked tired, beaten by the sun and a day spent wandering around with four boys, but she was comfortable, sparking with an energy that Chloe certainly couldn’t feel from behind the window, and it became clear that she was in the right profession. Where Chloe radiated a kind of softness fight for a classroom full of kids, Beca let out a sharpness that was ideal for concocting worlds and sculpting minds of people just beginning to notice the universe. She thought these kids were lucky to have the winking, flirtatious, imaginative mess that was Beca as their nanny. If she’d been raised by a woman like that instead of the retired grandmother who watched her daily after school, she might just have enough umph to fly. 

“I’ll be waiting right here,” she said finally, nodding. 

“With ice cream?” the little blonde boy called from behind, excitedly jumping over to Beca and wrapping around her from the back. 

“Okay, come on, let’s not push our luck, guys,” Beca said. “Pick-up tip number one: take what you can get.” 

Chloe chuckled, standing up. “With ice cream, you bet. And you’ll bring your nanny, right?” 

The little redhead boy frowned, “If we have to.” 

“Yeah! If we have to!” the blonde boy said, jumping up and down without really comprehending what his brother said. It was clear that stereo sound was how they operated. The baby in Beca’s arms giggled at the blonde boy’s antics. 

“Sounds perfect,” Chloe said, “It was very nice meeting you.” 

“What do we say, boys?” Beca asked, her eyes never leaving Chloe’s. It felt…almost…wrong the way she was staring at Chloe. 

“It was nice to meet you too,” they chanted, all together, and Chloe laughed, pulling the gate open to walk away. 

\--

“Hey, little bud, that’s my body that you’re trying to tackle,” Beca muttered at the redheaded boy pushing forcefully at her thigh. Even though she was tiny, she didn’t budge at all at the force, pulling back the boy’s head so he was wincing at her even though he keep pushing. Chloe chuckled, wiping at the ice cream that was dripping from the other girl’s hand. Quickly, Beca turned her head to her hand and then up at Chloe, offering up a brief “thanks” before looking back at the boy. 

“You need to moooooooove,” the boy said, grunting as he threw his whole body into the act of pushing her. 

“Why is that?” Beca asked with a smirk and a tilt of the head. 

“Becauuuuuse,” he started like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “I want to sit next to the lady.” 

“Oh yeah?” Beca said. She glanced at Chloe, who was biting at her lip to force down her grin. The little boy nodded furiously. “And you weren’t going to ask me to move?” He shook his head. “Well, then, until you ask, I think I’ll stay right here.” 

Looking up through red lashes, the little boy pouted, crossing his arms. Beca matched his face, adding a few dramatics until he sighed loudly. 

“The blue one needs you anyway,” he said, his eyebrows still furrowed. 

“The blue one?” 

He pointed at the playground to where one of the younger boys was toddling around with a woodchip in his mouth. 

“Shit,” she whispered under her breath, standing up quickly and racing over shouting, “No, no, no, we do  _not_ eat the woodchips, kid!” 

The little boy took that opportunity to jump onto the bench next to Chloe. Without saying a word, he looked up at her, one eye closed in the light of the early afternoon sun. “Um,” Chloe said, her eyes darting to where Beca was fishing around the baby’s mouth for more elements of the playground. “Hello, sir.” 

“Hi,” he said shortly. His hands were curved around the edge of the bench so that his arms were hyper-extended, and he had a wide grin on his face. “Do you like fruit?” 

“I, um, I do quite enjoy fruits, actually,” Chloe answered. Her eyes were on Beca as she said it, watching the way she seemed to know exactly when the twin baby was going to get himself in trouble and racing over to catch him from the side of the playground steps. Bouncing him on her hip, she ran her finger over his lips, making a buzzing noise that quickly made him erupt into giggles and squeals. The result was Beca’s face softening from stress to glee, and she stuck her tongue between her teeth as her eyebrows raised in amusement. She glanced over at Chloe once, winking. The action woke Chloe up enough for her to realize that there was a tugging on her sleeve. 

“Miss,” the little boy was saying. He held his hand up proudly, right under Chloe’s nose, and the nearness of it surprised Chloe enough to make her jump back. “I have this for you.” 

In his hand sat the remains of a peach pit, sucked clean and dried, clearly kept in his trouser pocket until the right moment to share with someone. Chloe fought her instinct and let out a wide-eyed gasp of fake wonder. “Wowza,” she said, “That’s…that’s pretty darn cool.” 

The little boy giggled. “Hngh, yeah,” he said proudly, pulling the pit closer to himself before remembering it’s purpose and holding it up to Chloe again. “Take it! It’s for you!” 

“Oh, well, than–” 

“Hey, dude!” Beca bounced up to them then, interrupting Chloe just as she was about to pick up the pit. One baby was balanced on her hip, playing with the star necklace around her neck and occasionally tugging at her earrings. Beneath the floppy sun hat, Chloe could just barely make out the button nose that matched wide eyes and swirls of white-blonde hair - hair that matched his older brother, if she guessed right. He seemed absolutely at ease in Beca’s arms, nuzzling closer to her and tucking his legs in to get tighter. “You hittin’ on my lady?” 

“She’s not  _your_ lady,” the little boy said, his hand immediately closing over the pit and shoving it close to his chest for safe-keeping. 

Beca raised her eyebrows. She was close enough to brush at the little boy’s hair, trying to pulling it out of his eyes, but he shook his head indignantly sending the hair back in it’s original place. “You know, this is the most I’ve seen you speak, kid.” 

In response, the boy crossed his arms. 

“Hey, I get it. The stubborn, broody rebel act works on girls,” she said easily, “We’ve got that strategy in common, dude.” 

Chloe laughed, fiddling with her hands in her lap and the hem of her dress. There was droplets of ice cream on it, but she didn’t mind much. Her cheeks were burning either from the direct hit of the sun from where they sat or the implication behind Beca’s words, and she tried her best to find a method of conversation that might steer them away from this course, but Beca seemed hell-bent on pulling the blush as far down Chloe’s neck as possible. 

Chloe was entirely positive that before today she didn’t have a weird Mary Poppins affinity, but…

…Well, it was besides the point anyway. Because Beca Mitchell was no Julie Andrews. 

“Still, it’s nearly dinner-time, and I’m almost off-the-clock, so what do you say we both leave Miss Chloe and see if she’ll be here tomorrow?” She was still brushing at his hair, her cheek pressing into the baby’s head. 

“Will you be her–”

“Politely….” Beca reminded, and the little boy groaned, throwing his head back. 

“Miss Chloe, will you be here tomorrow, please?” 

Chloe looked up at the nanny, her smile matching that one that the other girl wore. Beca looked tired, beaten by the sun and a day spent wandering around with four boys, but she was comfortable, sparking with an energy that Chloe certainly couldn’t feel from behind the window, and it became clear that she was in the right profession. Where Chloe radiated a kind of softness fight for a classroom full of kids, Beca let out a sharpness that was ideal for concocting worlds and sculpting minds of people just beginning to notice the universe. She thought these kids were lucky to have the winking, flirtatious, imaginative mess that was Beca as their nanny. If she’d been raised by a woman like that instead of the retired grandmother who watched her daily after school, she might just have enough umph to fly. 

“I’ll be waiting right here,” she said finally, nodding. 

“With ice cream?” the little blonde boy called from behind, excitedly jumping over to Beca and wrapping around her from the back. 

“Okay, come on, let’s not push our luck, guys,” Beca said. “Pick-up tip number one: take what you can get.” 

Chloe chuckled, standing up. “With ice cream, you bet. And you’ll bring your nanny, right?” 

The little redhead boy frowned, “If we have to.” 

“Yeah! If we have to!” the blonde boy said, jumping up and down without really comprehending what his brother said. It was clear that stereo sound was how they operated. The baby in Beca’s arms giggled at the blonde boy’s antics. 

“Sounds perfect,” Chloe said, “It was very nice meeting you.” 

“What do we say, boys?” Beca asked, her eyes never leaving Chloe’s. It felt…almost…wrong the way she was staring at Chloe. 

“It was nice to meet you too,” they chanted, all together, and Chloe laughed, pulling the gate open to walk away. 

\--

“Hey stranger,” the voice poked through her everyday routine, waking her up enough to blink and fix her hair absentmindedly. When she turned from the stacks of books she’s organizing, she finds Beca behind a massive stroller built for two, with two toddlers trailing behind in an imaginary pirate battle through the library’s entrance. 

“Beca!” Chloe said, surprised. She peeks at the stroller, wiggling her finger at one of the boys, who eyed her suspiciously before spitting out a googly coo. As she laughed, preparing to start a conversation with the nanny, one of the older boys tackled her leg, running at full force and wrapping his arms around it. 

“Ey, child, let’s not tackle people we don’t know well,” Beca said, holding out her hand for the red-haired boy to take. He only clung tighter onto Chloe’s leg, burrowing his face in her knee. 

“It’s fine,” Chloe said easily, patting his head. “Hey, bud.” 

“Hello, lady,” he said, his smile coming out between bitten lips. His brother came up to them, holding a book already. 

“You’re at work,” he said matter-of-factly. 

“Yes indeedy,” Chloe said, her hand resting on the red-haired boy’s head. When she looked back up at Beca, she was biting down a smile. 

“Sorry,” she said, “We, uh, we came for Summer Splash Days or whatever the fu…dge it’s called.” 

Chloe chuckled, moving to try to pry the boy from her leg and getting trapped in a conversation with the other brother, nodding mindlessly to show him she was listening while she looked back up at Beca. “You’ve got it right,” she said, “Starts in five minutes. Though these dudes are a little young…” 

“Right,” Beca said, wincing, “But…see…we know the star reader…so I was hoping…”

“First you use me for ice cream, and now you want me to sneak your kids into my class?” 

Beca shrugged, fiddling with the diaper bag that hung from the stroller. “’Sneak’ is a harsh word,” she said, “I was going more for…welcome with open arms.” 

Chloe pursed her lips to hide her smile, looking down at the babies. One was staring off at the window behind her, while the other was watching her, giggling. She scrunched her nose at them, bending down to poke him in the belly. When she stood again, she sighed. Looking around, she feigned some semblance of hopelessness at the nanny’s situation, then smiled when she saw how Beca was biting at her thumbnail. 

“Well, we’re five minutes out and no one’s here,” she said, “So I guess two tiny extras won’t be too much of a problem…”

Together, they went into the open area of the library, where an alphabet carpet lined the ground and a shelf of puppets sat ready for play. The two older boys sat in beanbags while Beca tried to unstrap the babies from the stroller, dropping each with a “boop” onto the ground. She sat behind them, legs crossed, smiling up at Chloe, and there was a silliness to all of it, seeing Beca there with the kids like she was their peer and not their leader. Though, she thought, that’s why it worked so well for her - she threw herself into the game instead of supervising from the sidelines. She was comfortable there, at home, like being an adult was just a game of pretend that she would participate in occasionally. Even when she was being serious, glares and stares and fingers pointed, there was still that sparkle. That light beneath all the black clothes and ear spikes. 

Chloe sat perched on the tiny chair, a book open between her thumb and pinky. “The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein,” she announced clearly, looking down at her audience before turning the page. “Once there was a tree…” 

Beca watched from the floor as Chloe talked, knowing the book already by heart. Beneath her breath, she whispered the words, her lips moving as Chloe’s did, watching the freckle that sat at the corner of Chloe’s lip bounce and move to the rhythm of the words. Her voice was easy to listen to - impossibly easy, really - and even the boys sat still as she talked, moving to sit on their feet so they could be closer to the voice and the pictures that were presented. She carried the right inflections to each sentence, never dumbing down her voice to fit the height of her audience, and Beca found herself appreciating this the most. Her kids were smart, capable of understanding more than most anyone ever realized, and the softed corners of baby-voices only dulled their senses unnecessarily. She thought that the boys appreciated it too, as they sat up straighter. More respect given means more respect taken, even at the age of three. 

The babies weren’t too aware of the story, but one crawled over Beca’s lap, stopping when Chloe let out a sound while reading, and giggling at the way she emphasized the dramatics. The other played with his hands, drooling, but Chloe used him as a prop, picking him up halfway through and bouncing him on her leg, eventually using him as the voice for the old man - which made the little boys raucous with laughter. Beca laughed too, light and easy, and it all felt so pure amidst the world of salary and strangers and baby wipes. It felt clean and pure and easy, sharing a story with someone else, letting yourself become ingrained in the story because a voice is pulling you into it. 

And Chloe read with extra diction, pushing her words to make music, because she was reading through The Giving Tree and watching the way Beca always darted her eyes around the room to tally up her numbers, on guard against falling babies and roaming toddlers, a pacifier hanging on the open button of her collar like a brooch. She gave every second to the kids scattered around her - whether she knew it or not - donating a least fifteen percent of her brain power to the children sitting at her feet, and Chloe thought that it was a valiant life to lead. To dedicate your hours to shaping a human, sculpting their moldable brains and allowing them to sculpt yours. It was generous and valiant and sweet, and Chloe was surprised to see these things in Beca, who’s lips twitched with smirks and who’s eyes gleamed behind layers of eyeliner. She thought, when she saw the family walk in, that she should switch her reading to _Where the Wild Things Are_ because there was something about Beca that was foreign, unique, and wild, but she stuck with what she had in her hands, and she found that the simple lines and easy verses really did match all that Beca was. When she finished, she smiled, wide and bright and it was blinding for Beca, who was balancing the other baby over her shoulder. He had fallen asleep where the other was playing on Chloe’s knee with the toddlers who were having fun tugging at his jaw to make him the puppet Chloe had. Beca scooted over to them with the baby huddled to her chest, putting an arm on the extra space on Chloe’s chair. 

“D’you like the book?” 

Beca looked up at her, surprised. “I’ve only read it twenty thousand times.” Chloe rolled her eyes, tapping Beca lightly on the head with the book. 

“A classic’s a classic,” she said, and Beca nodded. 

“Agreed,” she answered. They sat, watching the three boys interact and laughing occasionally. 

“Um,” Beca said after a few minutes, “So…we should go.” 

“Beca what if I don’t want to go?” the redheaded boy asked, his arms folding against his chest as a pout stretched out. His brother looked at him, then looked up at Beca, crossing his arms too. 

“Yeah, what if we don’t want to go?” he repeated his brother. Beca used her free hand to ruffle his curly blonde hair, then poked his shoulder. 

“Tough luck,” she said, moving to stand. “Move on out, troops.” 

The blonde boy threw his arms down, shrugging before navigating through the beanbags. 

“I will never forget you, lady,” the red-haired boy said earnestly, and Chloe laughed. 

“Okay, drama king,” Beca said, nudging him, “You’ll see Miss Chloe later, I’m sure.” 

The little boy humphed, clearly disagreeing or disbelieving. Beca, having already put the sleeping baby in the stroller, reached down to take the one bouncing contently on Chloe’s knee. Once Chloe was freed of the baby, she reached out to the redheaded boy, placing a light kiss on his forehead. “There you go,” she said lightly, “A little souvenir to remember me by.” 

The boy’s smile reached down to his toes as his shoulders stretched up to his ears. His face was red, and Beca laughed, pinching it. Chloe stood up, facing Beca. 

“Just because he’s cute and small, he gets a kiss?” Beca said, the baby still cooing against her shoulder. She took a moment to re-balance him on her hip. 

“Hmm, well, you shouldn’t be complaining,” Chloe said, “Because if cute and small are the requirements, then you’re in the running for one too.” 

Beca raised an eyebrow, her lips twisting into a smirk. “I see,” she said, looking down at the boy in her arms, “Well. Normally I’m opposed to height jokes, but…” 

Chloe, between chuckles, placed a light kiss at the corner of Beca’s mouth - just a small peck - and stepped back, biting her lip. 

“But I’ll take this one,” Beca finished, her voice breathier. They looked at each other for a long moment, eyes flickering down, before their stare broke apart at the sound of one of the boys shouting. He was holding his ear, tears immediately streaming down his eyes. Beca snapped her attention back to the kids quickly. 

“I don’t care who’s fault it was,” she said with her hand up. Bending down, she put the baby into the stroller and strapped him in. “Go get your brother, you’re both going to be playing the quiet game on the carride home.” 

“Bu–”

“No!” With a sigh, Beca stood up, sending an apologetic smile to Chloe. Chloe waved it off and shook her head, sighing too. 

“See you soon, neighbor?” she said, and Beca smiled, wide and easy, reminding Chloe of the baby’s face when she bent down to say hi. 

“You bet,” she said, turning the stroller to wheel out. “Only, not through the window I hope?” 

Chloe chuckled, shaking her head. “Noted.” 


	77. The One Where Everything Changed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bechloe mini fic prompt! : AU based on the Everything Has Changed video by Taylor Swift — sent by anonymous

Chloe Beale practiced saying hello in her mirror, standing on the edge of her bed in her Cinderella nightgown before the sun woke up and twirling occasionally to watch the way it swirled around her ankles. Her house smelled like fruit and cups of coffee, and her backpack had a 64 pack  _with_ the sharpener, so that all of the crayons stood stick-straight and sharp. They were organized according to shade, so that before she zipped up and waited at the curb for the bus, she could run her fingers over them and taste the rainbow on her hands. 

Beca Mitchell woke up in time to have two bowls of cereal, spilling the milk on the collar of her shirt but managing to stand on the stool long enough to pull her thermos of hot chocolate out of the microwave. Her hair was unbrushed, but she thought it made her look more like an explorer, or a rockstar, and she headbanged a few times in the mirror to add to the effect. Before she left, she kissed her mom on the cheek and grabbed the comics her grandpa discarded at the edge of the dinner table, rolling her eyes when they both shouted at her to pick up her backpack on the way out. 

And Chloe Beale liked the way that Beca Mitchell smelled, like her dad’s cup of coffee and fresh laundry detergent. So she sat next to her on the bus and read the comics over her shoulder, pointing to one that made her laugh particularly loud and explaining the joke that seemed to go over Beca’s head. 

And Beca Mitchell liked the way Chloe Beale talked, her lips twisting like she ate a sour candy while her eyes opened wide for emphasis. So she listened when Chloe explained, feeling like she’d met a princess for the first time. Feeling like there was a spotlight shining behind her, creating a halo around her hair and scattering dust fairies in the gleam. Feeling like she had some sort of duty to shield her from dragons even though she decorated cookies like she was a lady on TV and not like she was just given the amazing opportunity to play with frosting and sprinkles sans consequence. 

Chloe learned that Beca liked peanut butter and jelly, and Beca learned that Chloe preferred bologna and cheese. The redhead shared her gummy worms and the brunette shared her cupcake, but they took turns trying to build towers with their carrots on their knees.  

During music class, Beca played the guitar, because she only knew one song, but it was the one that her dad sang to her mom so “it has to be good”, and Chloe Beale liked the way that Beca Mitchell sounded when she fought against the chaos of the classroom with a scared voice and soft fingers. 

During gym, Chloe salutated the sun, because her mother knew yoga and Beca’s knees were skinned from last weeks batch of kickball, and Beca Mitchell liked the way that Chloe Beale closed her eyes tightly when she battled the force of gravity with her knock-knees. 

They snuck out of social studies, Beca’s hand sweaty in Chloe’s, to talk to lizards and build blanket forts. Beca wrote music while Chloe sewed her girls scout badge, and they both realized why their parents sometimes preferred silence over sound. 

Chloe Beale practiced saying hello in the mirror before the sun woke up. She twisted the front strand of her hair to curl perfectly, and there wasn’t a dot of stain on her white dress, which twirled around her knees when she spun. But when Beca pulled out the markers and started to draw on her face, she let herself become a monster, feeling the inked smudges of her fingerprints on the edges of desks. She discovered that she could feel more beautiful like that - marked in blacks and reds and blues with her tongue sticking out. “A ballerina monster,” Beca called her, rubbing her hands together and smiling in a way that showed the gap in her teeth, and Chloe thought it was the best compliment she could recieve. 

Beca Mitchell ate two bowls of cereal, spilling milk on her shirt because she couldn’t sit still. She bounced to the sound of music that beat somewhere in the back of her head, and the band-aids on her knees put grass stains on her shorts. But when Chloe pulled out the book and handed it to her, saying, “I like your voice. I like this book. And I’m too tired to read,” she discovered that she liked a different kind of music than she thought - the kind that was quiet and smelled like sunscreen and strawberries. 

They danced to that music later, with Chloe’s arms on Beca’s shoulders like her older brothers taught her. Beca donned a tie made out of a bunch of leaves sitting at the foot of the tree they sat under, and her hands twitched at Chloe’s sides. “I don’t think I’m very good at grown-up dancing,” she whispered at the end of the imaginary song, her hand pressed to Chloe’s ear. Chloe giggled, shrugging. 

“Maybe you’ll be better tomorrow,” she said, taking Beca’s hands and skipping out of the gym. “My mom always says, ‘All you learn from yesterday is that everything has changed’.” 

Chloe Beale left school with marker ink lining her fingernails and dirt on the bottom of her dress. She learned that she liked the way Beca Mitchell said, “Really?” with her hands twisted around the hem of her shirt and her brows furrowed. 

Beca Mitchell left school with a notebook full of songs she’d tried to sing to get herself to stay up past midnight and a head full of facts about lizards. She learned that she liked the way Chloe Beale said, “Totes,” with her eyes blazing and her smile wide, like Beca could do anything in the world and still impress her. 

And maybe she could, but she’d only learn that tomorrow. 


	78. The One With The Angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since you've been posting so many Bechloe fluffy prompts can you write an angsty or drama prompt? I'm just curious how you handle writing angsty or drama prompts, and even though I know it's gonna make me question why I even asked for this since I know you posting that would make me experience a lot of feels. — sent by anonymous

She needed her most in the middle of the night. When the lights were off and the streetlights peeked in through her window blinds, the shadows on the walls seemed darker, emptier and she couldn’t find the right balance between too many and too little blankets. 

Or maybe it was when she drove, the heartbeat of the cracks in the road seeming to bounce endlessly over the dashboard - where no song felt right enough to belt out. She didn’t like that she started to forget the moments she was driving altogether, seeming to wake up in a different location without knowing completely how she got there. 

Or maybe it was in the middle of the day, sandwiched between morning meetings and afternoons in the studio, where she had a half-hour for lunch and never remembered to pack anything. She would sneak into the bathroom, scooting herself into the stall to scroll through her phone. There would be updates on Facebook - throwaway statuses or pictures with friends, where the redhead eyes would change color in the camera flash and her style evolved into what an adult out on the town was supposed to wear. She’d turn to their message thread, pulling it down with her thumb repeatedly until lunch break was over, letting the last words said there burn into her brain. 

_[Chloe Beale (Friday, May 22 - 3:32 am)]: I’m going to miss you, Beca._

_[Chloe Beale (Sunday, May 24 - 6:03pm)]: Saw this pup, thought of you_

_[Chloe Beale (Saturday, May 30 - 12:56pm)]: I want to see your face. Skyyyyyype?????_

_[Chloe Beale (Wednesday, June 10 - 2:10am)]: I hope you’re okay. Love you._

Daily, Beca would draft a pages long response in the minutes she had between coffee orders, not explaining her silence but just carrying Chloe through the course of her day - the people she saw when she was driving that reminded her of someone the redhead would certainly get along with, the music she heard…When she was done, she double-tapped the text, highlighting all of it and pressing delete. 

It was almost the same thing as actually talking to her, Beca told herself. A way to ween her off of the drug that was Chloe Beale, until she learned to operate on her own again. Until she learned how to sleep at night, or drive to work, or eat on schedule, without the redhead beside her pressing jokes into her ribcage. Because when they left, locking the door to the Bellas house and giving a very nervous Emily the keys, they hugged, promising each other that they would skype every other week. Text every day. Beca would send mixes, Chloe would send snapchats - the kind she knew Beca loved where she gave herself ten chins - and everything would be fine. They wouldn’t be with each other, but they would be fine. Technology is good for that, right? 

Only Beca was familiar with this part of their story. Not one to make connections easily, she clung onto the few that clicked, but was grossly aware of the transience of it all. Nothing lasted forever, especially and most importantly relationships. Friendships. Connections. Chloe was a girl who could make friends where ever she went - she had the face that made you  _want_ to know her, and the personality that wouldn’t let you down. Beca would be a boulder in her suitcase, a weight to push her down when she needed to hit the ground running. So she cut the wire that kept them tethered to one another, knowing that Chloe deserved more than a moody intern at a record studio who went to work even more exhausted than when she came home. 

She would be doing the world a disservice if she stole Chloe from it and kept her for herself. 

And one day, eventually, she would wake up to a morning that was less grey than all the others. Eventually. 

Just, like, not today. 

Today, instead of typing a paragraph of description on how she was feeling, Beca drafted up one sentence ( _I need you and I don’t think I know how much)_ before her boss called her over to check the sound on a recording, and she pressed cancel again. 

\--

Beca was Chloe boundary line. Never afraid to push, Chloe wasn’t a person who hesitated when it came to other people - she jumped headfirst into people’s lives and waded around until they noticed her ripples and learned how to tread through her wake. But Beca was different, because Beca wasn’t water, Beca was cement, and jumping headfirst into her life meant cracking herself open and counting on Beca to soak up the remains. So, Chloe was hesitant. Soft. Careful. Restrained. For Beca. 

So when the first few texts went through unanswered, she tugged lightly, tearing through the fabric a bit to try to get a response from her. She hoped if she acted like nothing changed, then Beca wouldn’t be afraid to hop back into how things were. But as they all went by, the gray text of “delivered” scrawled across her screen without response, she set her phone down, pressed her head to the front of her desk, and prayed to whatever god she was taught to believe in that Beca was, at the very least, okay where-ever she was. And that, if she was okay, Chloe could be okay soon too. 

Sometimes, like a trick of the light, she would see in their message box three dots bouncing - the ellipses that signaled that the person on the other end was typing. Then, she’d blink, and they’d be gone, and she imagined that it was some glitch in one of their phones, because Beca posted blurry frowns on Facebook and music links on Twitter but gave Chloe no high sign whatsoever that she even remembered who the redhead was. 

That is, until 3 am on a Tuesday. Piled under mountains of comforters and with a sleep sounds app pouring in through her phone, she counted the seams on her pillowcase. Slipping in and out of an uncomfortable sleep, she heard the phone vibrate immediately, haphazard and threatening to jump off the nightstand. 

_[The Wife (3:37am)]: I need you and I don’t think I know how much_

The words flashed across her screen before she unlocked it, so that her fingers were shaking when she tried to type in her passcode. She felt her vision narrow and then spread out suddenly, like a camera trying to focus, and it felt like she was falling down from something high up. It was more panic than confusion that stuttered Chloe’s breath, because she was on the receiving end of sporadic texts from Beca many times over the five years that she’d known her, and ones with that weight always produced a Beca that was more broken than she’d ever admit to in the mornings. A Beca that was broken enough to act without thinking. 

So she pressed the phone on the corner of the screen, not realizing that she was crying until she held the phone up to her ear and felt tears on her cheek. It rang twice, then, a fumbling of the phone, and Chloe thought for a moment that if Beca hadn’t done anything wrong - if she was on the other end of the phone happy and healthy and smiling - then Chloe would at the very least need to call an ambulance for herself because she didn’t think she could handle hearing Beca laugh. 

“Shit,” she heard on the other end, and it made her gasp, the sound coming out like a garbled, choked laugh. “Sorry, um, God, I…” 

“Are you okay?” They were almost shouted, the words, but Chloe was just grateful that they retained some semblance of sense. 

“Um,” Beca said quickly, breathing. “I just…I didn’t mean to send that text.”

For a second, they’re silent. Chloe counted Beca breaths and recognized the stutter. It made her face break, cracking into sobs, because it was familiar and it was  _there_  and she knew she missed it but she somehow missed it even more now that it was echoing in her ears. 

She realized, somewhere in that, that Beca never answered her question. Wincing through what she thought were sobs on the other end, she tried to talk again. 

“But, Beca, are. you. okay?” 

Beca breathed in, loud enough for Chloe to hear, and on the exhale she heard Beca crack, choking on something heavy and hard between them. 

“No, Chlo,” she said, and Chloe heard the sobs break out. “I’m not…I don’t…I miss you so much, Chloe.” 

And then, like some bittersweet melody tearing through her headphones, Chloe smiled. Because it felt so good, this crashing wave of Beca coming back to hit her in the chest. She laughed, though it was tinged with hurt. 

“I miss you too, Babes.” 

Silence. 

“Chloe?” 

“Yeah?”

“I thought it would be better this way.” 

“I know.” 

“It’s not.” 

Chloe laughed. Her fingers hurt, nearly breaking her phone, but she didn’t care much. 

“I know that too.” 


	79. The One With the Hugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe a story about what being hugged by Beca feels like for Chloe? They've been together for a while now, maybe even quite a while, but the way Beca hugs Chloe hasn't changed.... — sent by anonymous

Beca couldn’t count on her hands the number of times Chloe hugged her in a day. Between bites of bagels and sips of coffee in the morning, or when a new issue of her favorite magazine comes in the mail, or when Beca so much as frowns because she lost the most recent game of Guitar Hero. 

Chloe, on the other hand, counted each and every one of Beca Mitchell’s hugs. 

452. 

She knows this because they are rare, interspersed with a series of moments where Beca bites her lip, uncertain, before jumping into Chloe’s arms. She knows this because she remembers the first one, a surprise at 2 am when they finally nailed the choreography in Chloe’s dorm room with Aubrey still out studying in the library. And after the first one, she kept track of the second one, given at Nationals, which meant that she had to keep track of the third one, and so on. 

The thirty third was when they graduated, Beca throwing her arms around Chloe and nuzzling there while kicking her legs up behind her. She hugged without abandon, believing wholeheartedly that by the time both legs left the ground, Chloe would have a steady enough hold on her to keep her up. 

The eighty fifth was after they spent their first week apart since getting together, standing in the airport terminal. Beca tackle her, even breaking into a run and dropping her suitcase. Her arms wrapped tightly around Chloe’s waist, and she squeezed, as if to make sure that Chloe was really there. “I couldn’t stop thinking about how badly I wanted to hug you,” she said, standing on her tiptoes. “I…don’t know why. That sounds so dumb.” 

The hundred and fifty first was in the hospital waiting room, when Chloe’s brother came out of his wife’s room with sweat on his upper lip and a tired grin. She pressed into Chloe’s side, her hand at Chloe’s hip, and let Chloe’s nervous giggles bubble into squeals before breaking off to hug her brother. 

The three hundredth was on the floor of the bathroom, curled into a ball with shaking fingers pulling at the edges of Chloe’s sweater so she could crumble into her chest. Because her mother’s doctor found a lump, and because the record studio dropped her, and because, though she long ago slumped off the weight of mismatched chemicals in her mind, she slipped so easily back into a place without light. “You can’t leave,” she said then, “Please.” 

They were all different. All unique and defined by the situations wherein they were given out. But they still felt the same, somehow. When Chloe hugged, it felt like she was searching - squeezing out some semblance of pixie dust energy to let seep into herself. Or, maybe, it felt like transmitting - pushing whatever emotion bubbled over in her into the other person so she could survive without combusting. When Beca hugged, though, it was to hold herself steady. Because she was tipping over with glee, or sinking too quickly into the absence of someone, or stumbling without a sense of balance. It was to cement her existence, to remind herself that she was present and real and that whomever she was hugging was too. 

Most of all, it was to ensure that the promise of security was still intact. That whomever she was hugging was there, was warm, and was keeping her safe. If only for that one moment where she let them. 

So when Beca hugged Chloe, Chloe counted. Remembered. When Beca hugged Chloe, Chloe hugged back, holding Beca still or rocking her side to side, pressing her cheek against Beca’s head to hold her to this plane. She hugged not with too much force, but not lightly. Just enough for Beca to squeeze closer before trying to pull away - a quick second guess on her part that last as long as Chloe allowed it to before she pulled Beca back in and reassured the other girl that what she was doing was okay. 

452\. The amount of times Chloe felt right. Like she belonged somewhere with someone at sometime. 


	80. The One Where Beca's Not Good Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry i know you're probably getting loads of prompts (i read and love every single one though omg you're amazing) and you can obviously choose to ignore this one, but i thought of one where Beca has a fight with her dad and says something to her about never being good enough to get to LA to be a music producer, and after she tries to get into the Bella house unnoticed but Chloe is still up watching TV and comforts Beca about it - could lead to something a bit more intense but it's up to you! XX — sent by anonymous

Beca was small - no one, not even she, would bother to deny that. And inside that tiny body was a constant threat of combustion, like the anger of a giant was compressed to fight into only a little more than five feet. Beca grew when she was angry, crashing and slamming and slapping so that the world crumbled to her feet. The Bellas were familiar with this storm. Jesse, too, had witnessed it. It was nothing new. 

What was new, though, was this Beca - the one that was silent, seething but deflated, like there was little air left in her but what was left was white hot. She slipped through the front door quietly, not floating but sliding well enough to hardly make a sound aside from the flutter of a few sniffles that managed to echo over the walls. 

“Becs?” 

From the shadowed light of the television screen, Chloe’s head popped out over the back of the couch. There was sleep knotted in the corners of her eyes, and before she saw Beca’s face she let out a lazy, welcoming smile. Beca kept her eyes focused on the ground, though, counting the amount of steps she had until she could be upstairs over and over. One, two, three..thirteen. One, two, three…thirteen. 

“Becs?” 

She said it again, though instead of curious, it was concerned, spilling over with a sudden alarm that lifts her off the couch and over to Beca. She grabbed Beca’s hands. “You’re shaking.” 

She looked in Beca’s eyes, briefly allowing herself to be grateful that Beca looked up at her at all. There was a hum in them, dull and fuzzy, but still buzzing with some kind of red hotness. A paralyzed anger - one that was too tired to push her any further than into Chloe’s arms. 

“Shit,” Chloe spat out, catching Beca’s weight easily and running her hands through Beca’s hair. “You had dinner with your dad tonight didn’t you?” 

She winced when Beca nodded, pressing her cheek against Beca’s head. Tutting once, she stood there, feeling the tremor turn into a total shake as Beca started to cry. 

They’d seen Beca angry, foaming at the mouth and chomping at the bit, because she was so small and she always managed to grow tall. But now, Chloe got the chance to witness Beca broken - only slightly, but enough to dull the anger in a fear, a weakness, an exhaustion. Enough to turn the steam that spun her motor into tears. 

“Chlo,” Beca said against Chloe’s collarbone, “I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

“What?” Chloe pulled Beca away, pushing the hair out of the other girl’s eyes and looking in them for an answer. Beca looked at the ceiling, blowing air out. 

“I don’t  _know_ what I’m  _doing,”_ Beca said again, slower. “I mean…I don’t know how it happened, but suddenly we’re here, and we’re almost done, and while you’ve all set your sights on realistic futures, here I am dreaming of LA? Music producer? Who the fuck am I kidding?” 

“Beca…”

“No, Chlo, no…You don’t…” Beca shook her head, throwing Chloe off of her for a second as she spun around to sit on the couch. “You don’t get to tell me to shoot for the moon. Even if I miss I’ll land among the stars, right? God. It’s bullshit. And he’s right. He’s been right all along. This dreamland I’m living in is…just…so… _childish.”_

She stopped to take a breath, sighing deeper when Chloe sat down beside her. The redhead grabbed Beca’s hand with her own, turning it over and over and pressing into the pad of her thumb. 

“You’re…” Chloe started, sighing and chuckling a little to herself. “So…dumb.” 

The final word was a breath, barely over a whisper, but almost laughed somehow, and Beca pulled back in offense and shock. Or, at the very least, tried to pull back, but was restrained by Chloe’s grip. 

“I’m sorry! But if you think for one second that you don’t deserve that future…God…you’re really a dummy.” 

“Dummy? Really, Chlo?” 

“Hush,” Chloe chided, “I’m not joking! Beca, that future hardly deserves  _you.”_

Beca was quiet, nodding and swallowing her words. Chloe continued. 

“Maybe your dad was a little right,” she allowed, and Beca looked concerned, so she spoke quickly. “Maybe it won’t be immediate. Or crystal clear and simple. Nothing really is, Becs, that’s kinda why everyone’s so screwed up. Like, generally. But…you  _will_ be happy. You  _will_ be known. If you fight for your talent and for your passion…Jesus, Becs, you will be so much. I suck at knowing most things, but I know this. Like, 110%.” 

Beca sighed. She nodded quickly, but her face broke again, and Chloe hummed, furrowing her brow and pulling Beca close to her chest again. “It’s gonna be okay,” she said quietly, “You won’t even know when or how it happens, but it’ll be okay, and you’ll be…just standing in the debris laughing.” 

Beca chuckled. “Beca the Warrior Princess.” 

“Slaying life since the day she was born,” Chloe joked, pressing a kiss to Beca’s forehead. 

“Thanks, Chlo,” Beca said, and it was quiet, but it was steady, still. Small and tall at the same time. Chloe thought there was no way she’d ever be able to contain the girl in her arms - not a chance. 

“Love you, Becs,” she said softly. Beca pushed against her on the couch, boosting herself up to be eye-to-eye with Chloe. Her eyes flitted to Chloe’s lips for a fraction of a second, but they were sparkling and widened by tears and rebuilt certainty, so the second was enough to pull Chloe in by a strong, drawing their lips together in a gasp of pressure and salty-sweetness that tasted like the gummy bears Beca kept in her car console. 

“Love you too, Chlo.” 


	81. The One With the Double Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Pt 1) Ok this literally came to me as I was going to sleep but could you write something where maybe Aubrey and Jesse are going on a date and Chloe comes along so Jesse invites beca to keep her company and beca and Chloe are ironically mocking all (Pt 2) The cute couple stuff jaubrey keep doing but by the end of the night they actually find out they really like each other— sent by anonymous

“Nope. Not that one. Go with the dark blue one under your bed.” 

Beca huffed, throwing her top off quickly and sliding halfway under her bed. “Okay, first of all, why do you know what’s under my bed, and, second of all, I really don’t think this is fair,” she pulled herself out from under the bed, putting the top on, “You can’t force me to look nice on top of forcing me to go out. It’s  _your_ date, I don’t see why what I’m wearing matters.” 

Jesse chuckled into his hand, shaking his head. “You’re going to be seen in public with Aubrey. It’s not like she’s going to let you out of the car until you look po-si-tive-ly presentable.” 

Beca rolled her eyes, groaning, “You owe me big time, Swanson.” 

“I scored you a hot date with a redhead,” Jesse countered, and Beca slapped his head. “Okay, okay, sorry. No, thank you, Becs. ‘Preciate it.” 

“Yeah, you do,” Beca reiterated. She walked into the bathroom to check on her makeup. “Alright. Out out out. Posen’s gonna flip a shit if we’re late anyway.” 

When Jesse opened the theater door for Aubrey, gesturing with wide arms for her to follow through, Beca turned to Chloe and raised her eyebrows. 

“After you, Madame,” she said when they came up to the doors, curtseying. 

“Oh, why thank you kind sire,” Chloe responded, curtseying as well before wrapping her arm around Beca in a headlock and forcing them both, laughing, through the doorway. Aubrey rolled her eyes, glancing at Jesse for support, but the boy just set his eyes toward the showtimes and squeezed her hand lightly. Beca and Chloe looked at Aubrey innocently before she huffed and turned towards the showtimes as well. 

–

Jesse had Aubrey’s order memorized, walking easily to the concessions counter and ordering a small popcorn - no butter - with two small drinks. One was unsweetened ice tea, no ice. The other was a bright blue icee. “For you, m’lady,” he said when the worker delivered the food to the counter. 

Chloe was next, and she threw a glance at Beca before turning to the worker. “A family-sized popcorn, double butter. One large cherry icee, and a pack of sour-patch. I prefer reeses pieces, but the girlfriend likes it sour and sweet, so…” 

Beca nearly choked on her cocky grin, surprised that Chloe went that far - and that she knew so confidently what Beca’s order was. Right down to her cheap need to share the icee with Chloe so she didn’t feel guilty about paying for it. 

When Chloe got the order, she turned to Beca, taking a sip from the icee before handing it to her saying, “For you, m’lady” with a wink before they both looked at Jesse and Aubrey with mocking smiles. 

As they walked into the theater, Beca swore she heard Aubrey mutter “aca-annoying” into Jesse’s ear harshly, and her suspicions were confirmed when Chloe giggled into her shoulder mischievously. 

Jesse positioned the popcorn between them, but made no move to share. Chloe did the same, and Beca rolled her eyes when - not even halfway through the previews - Chloe’s hand caught hers in a pseudo-accidental attempt at hand-holding. 

During a particularly (and, in Beca’s opinion, painfully) quiet scene, Jesse had the audacity to yawn in an attempt to put his arm around Aubrey’s shoulder - and though the move was utterly archaic, Aubrey smiled goofily, leaning into it and pressing her forehead into his shoulder. Beca, eyes twinkling, pursed her lips in a small grin, opening them suddenly to let out a wildly vocal yawn and stretch her arms around Chloe. Both of the girls looked at the couple, giggling, when Chloe took the arm and cuddled into it. There was a pang in Beca’s chest, and Jesse - despite Aubrey’s annoyed glare - winked at her in a way that made it hard to swallow. She wasn’t sure, but she thought that Chloe was in the perfect position to hear her heart thumping in her chest, and it could’ve been part of the act, but in every scary scene, Chloe jumped closer to her until they were a tangle of limbs. 

When the lights came up, Aubrey stood over them, not allowing the credits to roll without a scolding. “I hope you two are having fun,” she said quietly, “My boyfriend is trying to be sweet, and…it’s just… _rude_ of you to mock him for that.” 

“Boyfriend?” Jesse pitched in from behind, and Chloe looked up at Beca with a grin impossibly wide. 

“Yes, dolt,” Aubrey huffed behind her, “Of course you’re my boyfriend, you’re aca-adorable, now can we please stay focused?” 

Jesse looked like he was stunned, or paralyzed, or hit by some kind of tranquilizer gun, and Beca guffawed at the entire interaction, earning another glare from Aubrey and a poke in the gut from Chloe - who’d already half-sobered under her best friend’s frown. 

“Sorry,” Beca held her hands up in mock surrender, “We caught the love bug. Couldn’t resist.” 

Chloe stifled her laugh, standing up as a way of providing a barrier between Beca and Aubrey. She held her hand out for Beca to stand too, and didn’t let go as they led the theater, and Beca wondered why she noticed this. Why she was worried that her hand was too cold or too hot or too dry or too clammy. Why it mattered. 

And then there was the goodbye, with Jesse standing on the stoop to their apartment, a foot between him and Aubrey. Beca and Chloe watched from the backseat of the car, concocting lines of dialogue for their best friends until the car fell silent and Beca noticed that Chloe’s hands were in her lap. 

“So, this is really cliche,” Chloe said quietly, and Beca bit her lip. 

“That was kinda the theme of the night, Chlo,” Beca muttered, and Chloe lightly tapped her on the shoulder. 

“I’m trying to tell you I had a good time, Becs, let a girl compliment you, will ya?” 

“Sure, sorry,” Beca grinned, “Go on.” 

Chloe huffed, rolling her eyes but smiling. “You know. The usual. It was fun. This.” 

“Yeah,” Beca’s voice was dryer than she remembered, and she coughed on the word coming out. “Yeah, me too.” 

“Um,” Chloe looked down at her hands before glancing up at the stoop, where the distance between Aubrey and Jesse closed and they were locked in a kiss. Chloe took a deep breath, one that made Beca nervous though she wasn’t sure why, and at the end of the inhale, Chloe’s eye twinkled with a smirk of confidence. Something in Beca knew she was in trouble. Something in Beca knew not to fight it. She was grateful for that something, because when Chloe was done with whatever she was thinking, she leaned closer to Beca and said, “We’ve gotta follow through with the joke, you know.” 

And Beca’s breath hitched at the contact - at the feel of Chloe’s breath on her lips - but she nodded. “Yeah, I mean…it’s important…to be…thorough.” 

Their laugh was punctuated by Chloe’s giggles, and it felt good - beyond good really, which was why, Beca thought, they didn’t notice the windows fog up unti Aubrey was knocking frantically on them and Jesse was laughing. 

Beca swore she heard Aubrey mutter, “Jesus Christ, can we never leave them alone?” but she muffled it with Chloe laughter - a much more enjoyable sound. 


	82. The One Where Girls Like Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Girls Like Girls prompt, where jesse is trenton, Beca is sonya and chloe is coley — sent by anonymous

There is blood running down her forehead, cold and warm and she thinks that she can’t really feel it at all. Not with the wind in her face. Not with the wheels  _pa-lomp-_ ing on the asphalt. Not with the memory of Beca’s lips pressed against hers, like the pressure of the lavender and cracked leather taste is permanent - a living fossil, throbbing. There is blood running down her forehead, and she thinks that she can’t really feel it at all. It was a good summer. 

There was a hazy feeling to seeing her - drunk and sepia-toned, burnt around the edges when Beca smiled to welcome her in. It was bright.  _She_ was bright. Hypnotic in a way that Chloe was sure she wasn’t even aware of. And Jesse, there too, grabbed her in a headlock, fussing with her hair to ensure he silently pronounced himself the alpha in the situation. 

She watched them together, because it confused her how someone so bright could be restrained by someone so grey - and saw that they sat an extra inch apart, Jesse lighting her cigarette before his own without a word passing between them. When she walked into the room, he passed by her, but there was a way Beca was looking at her that made her not notice his scoff. By the time she hopped onto the counter, Beca was there, eye to eye, nose to nose, to press smoke into her face. It billowed, blanketing over her skin and in some heat-chill, she shivered. It was a cloud she could sleep in, but she fought to urge to keep her eyes closed. Then, Beca’s hands on her lips, pressing, and Chloe could smell her - could smell the lavender and nicotine - so the inhale was half-purposeful and half-necessary for survival, because with Beca this close there was something that made her forget how to blink. 

“You two are weird,” Jesse said from the corner of the room, watching the way their hands tapped against the tiled countertop. Beca bit her lip, pressing down a smile and looking at Chloe like that was the only response necessary. 

_There was something magnetic about the way she moved through space and time. Like a beat was flowing through her blood, pushing her muscles to bounce or sing or swim in some way. And, standing there on the makeshift baseball field at the side of a forgotten highway, Chloe couldn’t look away - couldn’t even try - because Beca had forgotten herself completely, giving into the sun and the melody it let out. She crashed Chloe’s senses._

“My dad has a pool,” Jesse muttered when he stormed through the house on the way to his bedroom, “I hope you brought your suits.” 

So they changed, two girls and one guest room like so many times before, and Chloe watched the way the dimples in Beca’s back stretched and curved when she slipped her top off. There was a strange sense of voyeurism to it all, and Chloe fought that itch behind her neck that told her to look away. Because Beca was porcelain and bright white, dotted in freckles and more toned that Chloe had realized. And when Beca noticed her look, she smiled, raising her eyebrows as she finished tying the bikini top. It made Chloe blush - which was more than a little new for her - and she pushed it all back, back, back, so that she, at the very least, could stop her shaking long enough to get her swimsuit top on. 

Then, the pool, which was cold except for where Beca clung onto her - by the shoulders and by the thighs until they were broken by Jesse’s splash and forced to sit apart. He always seemed just a tad away from them, like he was supervising and not partaking, and Beca seemed to be okay with that, reaching out for Chloe’s hand as she leaned back to sun bathe. 

Chloe wasn’t sure when, exactly, the stares started to shift. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment that Beca’s smile became more hesitant, her eyes more self-aware, like she’d just started to read her own thoughts and didn’t know what to do with them. But she felt the stare on her as she painted Beca’s nails a thick black, felt it but didn’t bother glancing up, because she liked the pressure of Beca’s eyes against her neck, and was worried if she did break that she’d break Beca completely. Somehow. 

And she felt it again when Beca put her lipgloss on, her eyes tracing the outline of Chloe’s lip before taking a shaky breath. It was small, imperceptible, but where Beca hid every part of herself, her eyes revealed it all, and Chloe saw the panic there. The strange panic that seemed, almost, hopeful. 

They stayed that way - Beca’s eyes - the rest of the summer. Panicked and hopeful, like they were addicted to something they shouldn’t be. And Chloe watched them swirl like that, pressed against the edge of the couch during the party, until Jesse tore it apart to leave irritation and embarrassment in it’s place. He moved to the music in a way that suggested no fluidity at all, pressing his hands over Beca to show some kind of ownership, and Chloe looked away - if anything because she felt like Beca wanted her to. But when they returned, her eyes were different. No longer panicked but apologetic and…promising. Definitely promising. 

The party dimmed, as parties do, instead of ending, and Chloe drew circles on the wall as she passed by downstairs - stepping over a sleeping Jesse on the way. 

Beca was sitting at the edge of the pool, shoulders hunched, and behind the music that pressed into Chloe’s ears, she could hear sniffles. There was a silence to Beca’s cry, though, that broke Chloe. The string in her chest pulled her closer, until she was sitting next to Beca, the smell of lavender and cracked leather overwhelming her senses. She looked confused. Panicked and confused and apologetic all in one swirl of navy blue, and it was enough to make Chloe deafen, reaching up to Beca’s cheek because it was the only instinct that existed in her mind. 

She wasn’t sure why she was pulled back - couldn’t say when it happened - just that Jesse’s voice tore through the deafening silence, and that her head was pounding. She thought, momentarily, that it matched the beat that Beca danced to - that same pounding, throbbing _pain_ that Beca danced to. Only, she wasn’t dancing now. She was standing still, her eyes clutching onto Chloe’s like magnets, and Chloe can feel the squeak of pain it takes for her to look away when Jesse demands. She can see Beca shrink - turn from sepia-toned and warm around the edges to gray and burnt, under his shouts and the spittles of spit that come from his mouth when he does so. 

So, like the instinct earlier to touch Beca’s cheek, she was not sure any other action or possibility of action existed in her mind - just this base need to jump, and she was on Jesse. Not just on Jesse, but fighting him - throwing every panicked stare back his way through her fists and her hands, and she thought she was crying - at the very least, she could hear herself crying - but she pushed through it and turn them into grunts. Every moment of impact brought another one of Beca’s looks - her smile, her stare, the taste of her smoke - and Chloe becomes blind. 

_There was something magnetic about the way she moved through space and time. Like a beat was flowing through her blood, pushing her muscles to bounce or sing or swim in some way. And, standing there on the makeshift baseball field at the side of a forgotten highway, Chloe couldn’t look away - couldn’t even try - because Beca had forgotten herself completely, giving into the sun and the melody it let out. She crashed Chloe’s senses._

She had to blink to clear it out, to erase the burning feeling of Beca’s cheek rubbing lightly against the edge of her knuckle, but when she did, the woman stood before her, crying. She thought she was crying too. Could taste iron and salt in her mouth. Beca ran her thumb over Chloe’s lip, pressing down and looking scared before meeting Chloe’s eyes and closing hers slowly - just enough to breathe. Chloe followed, and, like so many times before, they worked like magnets, letting themselves fall together, into one another, pressed against each other in a way that almost hurt because it was so  _necessary._ So urgent. So emergent. 

–

There is blood running down her forehead, cold and warm and she thinks that she can’t really feel it at all. Not with the wind in her face. Not with the wheels  _pa-lomp-_ ing on the asphalt. Not with the memory of Beca’s lips pressed against hers, like the pressure of the lavender and cracked leather taste is permanent - a living fossil, throbbing. There is blood running down her forehead, and she thinks that she can’t really feel it at all. It was a good summer. 


	83. The One With the Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a prompt for you. If you're still taking them. Uhm... Beca and Chloe are having a huge fight. Like, break up levels fight. The Bellas are worried and asked Aubrey to help fix them. Please and thanks! :) — sent by anonymous

They bicker. This is something that the Bellas grew accustomed to, because it was just part of the dynamic. Part of the ebb and flow that was Beca and Chloe. As much as they cuddled, throwing side-eyes to each other in the middle of rehearsals and growing incapable of separating their arms from one another, they’d shoot back and forth quick and hot bursts of arguments - over pizza toppings and musical choices and not having the laundry done. It was the soundtrack to their lives, the coo of their lovebird phases blended almost perfectly with the hissed bickering. And Stacie would look on with a smirk on her face, because “it, like, JUST became legal, but you two are legitimately an old married couple”. And Amy would plug her ears or cover Emily’s eyes while shouting something about “Mom and Dad always fighting”. So, they bicker, and it’s nothing unusual to the Bella household. But, packed together at the foot of the steps nervously and listening to the sounds of crashing and clashing coming from Beca and Amy’s room, they began to think this was more than a bicker. 

This was a fight. 

And Beca and Chloe, despite all their bickering - despite their harsh words and thrown out insults - never fought. 

If they did, by anyone’s definition, then they never fought quite like this. Because Chloe is throwing things, and Beca and crying, and the shouts are louder than the walls can handle. 

“I can’t fucking do it, Beca!” 

“I know, I know you can’t,” Beca said quickly, quietly, and it hurts to hear the way it cracks on the end, like it’s tired of holding up the weight of her thoughts. “I’m sorry, I just, I–”

“You’re not even  _listening_ to me!” 

“I am! I am! I just –” 

“Just  _try_ and  _stop_ for one second and consider my place in all of this –”

“I have! Chlo, it’s not like it’s an easy thi–”

“Oh, I’ll bet! I’m sure you struggle so much, with your killer mixes and your winner smile, I’ll bet the world’s just WAITING to trample you, huh? It sounds so terrible,” Chloe’s voice was filled with a kind of poison reserved for backstabbing acapella judges and competitors’ egos. But, still, there’s a weakness to it - a wrinkle in the foundation that hints of tears dotting the corners of her eyes. Another clang stomps through the house, and, judging by Beca’s short squeak of discomfort, it could be assumed that the sound was one of her mixes, thrown against the floor. “You, all decked out by this studio and that company, and where am I? Where am I, Becs?” 

“You’re here!” Beca’s voice regained some of it’s edge, building like a tower of Legos before falling again. “You’re here with me! The whole time!” 

“And that’s good enough?” It’s hissed, like a whisper. “You think that’s good enough? For me? For us? Being the First Lady while you become leader of the free world?” 

“No one said–” 

“No one  _had_ to. I’ve been here six years. You think someone has to tell me that’s how it’s going to be? God. It’s, like….No. Don’t…don’t touch me. I need you to leave.” 

Someone muttered something, in hushed tones and soft voices, but the house can  _feel_ Chloe shake it off. 

“I don’t care if it’s your room, Beca!” It’s a shout again. “Leave! Now! God fucking damnit!” 

And there was another loud sound echoing through the house, but this time it’s closer, and the Bellas know enough to recognize that it’s the sound of the door slamming, with Beca’s sniffles following through. She huffed, holding her forehead to the door for long enough for the Bellas to scramble if they wanted to - but none of them move, frozen in time, and she didn’t do anything but scoff at them as she raced down the steps, grabbed her jacket, and left. 

“Fuck,” Cynthia Rose muttered under her breath, over the sound of Chloe whimpering upstairs. “That was some intense shit.” 

Stacie nodded, breathing in shakily. “What…Like…Should we be worried?” 

“Aca-moms can figure it out,” Amy said confidently, running her hands up her jeans. Emily, who was sitting next to her, looked around nervously, her bottom lip trembling. “Are you crying, aca-child? It’s fine. They’ll split custody 50/50.” 

“Amy!” Stacie hissed, throwing a glare at the blonde before turning towards Emily. “Ignore that, kid.” 

Emily nodded silently, dabbing inconspicuously at the corner of her eye. “I just…um…if…if they do break up then…”

“They ain’t gonna break up,” Cynthia Rose stood up, helping Stacie to her feet. 

“And how can we be sure?” Jessica piped up from the corner. 

“Yeah, that was…pretty intense,” Ashley agreed. 

“We’ll be on the 48 hour look-out,” Stacie said with a curt nod, holding her finger up. “If things aren’t fixed by then, we call in the big guns. Yeah?” 

–

That night, Beca didn’t come home. She slipped through the door the next morning, early enough that Chloe was already out on her morning jog. There were leaves in her hair and dirt on her jeans, and when CR stopped her at the kitchen counter to ask where she’d been, she winced. The rims of her eyes were red. 

“You doin’ alright, Smalls?” she asked, because there’s a pinkness around the bottom of her nose that implies constant sniffling, and she looked like she was punched in the gut. 

“Not even in the slightest,” she said quietly, her voice raspy. “I’m gonna shower now. Tell the troops to stand-down, please. I don’t want to deal with nosey chicks all morning.” 

CR saluted. “Aye aye cap’n.” 

–

So, yes, the Bellas were used to bickering. And, if they were forced to really think about it, they could say they were used to fighting too - though to a much lesser degree. But after the 48 hours ended with Beca still sleeping in some mysterious location and Bellas rehearsal having been cancelled (something that was  _really_ unheard of) - after Stacie checked on Chloe to find her hair unwashed, her clothes dirty, eating a non-organic family-sized bag of potato chips and working through her third season of Gilmore Girls (fifth re-watch) interspersed with CSI - after Emily texted Beca and got no response, even after she sent a snapchat of her playing with fire next to Lilly and donning a  _very_ concerned face - it became apparent that this wasn’t them bickering. This wasn’t a fight. This was bad. 

And there was no time that warranted calling in the big guns more than this time did. 

So Stacie cued up her Skype, and they all gathered in the living room, explaining all that they knew about the situation to a very perturbed blonde on-screen (who appeared to be taking notes). They weren’t entirely sure what Aubrey could do - or if she’d want to do anything, considering how much she hated Beca her freshman year - but they felt, by the end of the video call, that they did something right. Like returning a lipgloss after purchasing it with the five-finger discount. 

–

“Aubrey, what the fuck, how did you even–” 

Beca voice was absent from the Bella home for long enough that the entire house shook under the sound of her protests, stirring each Bella to pop up through various doorways to find Beca in the front door, with Aubrey dragging her by the wrist, the claw marks of her nails already making Beca’s arm red. The blonde looked…somehow exactly as she did years before, her jaw set and her eyes locked with a steel gaze that was somehow on fire. 

“You don’t get to ask questions,” is all she said in response to Beca prying at her fingers, “Now I could drag you up these steps, or you could come willingly. The choice is up to you. But there is redhead sitting in a pile of her own body odor and tears, quickly wasting away the aca-bod that I worked hard to sculpt, so if you think I’m kidding about draggin–”

“Chill,” Beca hissed, “I’m going.” 

Aubrey hummed, satisfied, and walked up the steps with Beca in tow, not once glancing at the girls who were dotting the doorways with uncertain eyes. 

Once they reached the landing of Beca’s bedroom, Aubrey pushed Beca to the doorway. “Knock,” she said, and Beca did. 

Which was the first indication that the Bellas did the right thing. Because Beca seemed impossibly tired - the kind of black and blue tired that could force even her to weaken under Aubrey’s command. She was dulled, it seemed. 

“Chloe, you have five seconds, and then we’re coming in there ourselves.” 

“Bree?” 

The door clicked open, and before Chloe got the chance to hug her friend, Aubrey held a hand up. “No. You, miss, have not showered in two days, and this is a new blouse. Now, Beca has things to say to you. Downstairs, let’s go.” 

The Bellas, who had gathered again at the base of the steps, scattered when Aubrey led the two girls down the staircase, pushing them easily into the living room and sitting them down on the couch. 

“Tell me why you’re so dumb,” Aubrey blurted when they were settled, and it wasn’t clear at all who she was talking to. Instinctively, Beca assumed it was her that the question was directed to, and she opened her mouth to protest, but Aubrey held her hand up again, turning her gaze to Chloe. 

“Me?” Chloe stuttered, surprised. “Wha–I…”

“Chlo, you love her. More than…you love her,” Aubrey swallowed, sitting up straighter. “So what’s the problem?” 

For a few seconds, the house was silent. Then, Chloe squeaked, her face breaking into a sob, and Beca had to sit on her hands to keep from helping. Aubrey reached out from the chair she sat it, putting her hand on Chloe’s knee, and Chloe bent to press her forehead into her arm. 

“I’m so scared, Bree,” she sobbed, and Aubrey nodded. “She’s got…she’s got so much, you know? And I can’t…I don’t want to…hold her back…” 

“What?” Beca, who had been nearly biting her tongue off, couldn’t hold herself back any longer. Despite Aubrey’s glares, she shot forward on the couch. “What the fuck would make you even think–”

“Becs, I see it,” Chloe cried, “I see how people see us. I’m the super senior and you’re the DJ queen, with this future that’s…it’s too bright for me, Becs.” 

Hesitantly, Beca reached a hand up to brush through Chloe’s hair. It stopped at the base, halted by what was a baby dreadlock, so Beca settled for patting Chloe’s back, and when Aubrey pulled her hand away, Chloe turned to put her weight in Beca’s arms. When Beca looked up at Aubrey, scared, Aubrey just nodded, breathing deeply. 

“That’s…we were fighting about that?” Beca said, and Aubrey rolled her eyes as Chloe chuckled a little. 

“You’re really dense, Beca,” she said between cries. 

“Not important,” Aubrey chirped from the sidelines, and Beca nodded quickly, returning to Chloe. 

“Anyway, um, yeah, no, Chloe,” Beca said, “That’s…so…unbelievably dumb. Like, no offense or anything, but…You’re kinda the brightest thing in my life. And, like, in my future. Hopefully. If…um…if that’s what you want. To be in my future, I mean. Um. Yeah. That’s…that’s what people are staring at when they see us. Not you being a super senior and my ‘crazy potential’ or whatever. But, like, you. They’re staring at you. Cuz you’re…you. And they’re wondering how I got you. Not the other way around.” 

Chloe huffed, moving to press her forehead up against Beca’s forehead. “Yeah?” 

Beca smiled, wiping the dripping mascara from Chloe’s cheek. “Hell yeah.” 

Suddenly, Aubrey clapped, standing up. “How ‘bout they’re staring at  _both_ of you?” 

The two girls looked at her, surprised. 

“Implying that there’s a superior self in the relationship is contrary to the atmosphere of equality that you want to maintain in the process of team-building,” she recited, and Beca bit her lip when she stole a glance at Chloe, who was grinning. 

“So, they’re staring because we’re so hot,” Chloe said, and it was easy, light. It brought a laugh to bubble on Beca’s lips, which shook the house and made the walls a shade brighter. 

Aubrey reddened slightly. “Whatever works for you…two…” she grunted, wiping her hands on the sides of her skirt. “Now, I’m starving. So I’m making a salad. And you’re having some, Chloe.” 

“With dressing,” Beca added, which made Aubrey grumble something incoherent and head into the kitchen. 

“Italian?” Chloe offered, and Beca scoffed, leaning into Chloe’s arm. 

“You’re disgusting,” she said, “Ranch.” 

“What! No! It’s MY salad, Becs!” 

“You stink, you know…”

“You don’t smell like roses either—” 

And, yeah, the Bellas were accustomed to bickering. To batted back and forths with hissed insults and laughable debating. It was nice. Part of the soundtrack to the year. So they sank back into it, from all the doorways they leaned up against, high fiving one another in victory. 

 


	84. The One With the Blanket Fort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blanket Forts: Beca makes them, always had, when she is having some sort of anxiety issue or needs to shut out the world or anything. Chloe is having a break down, Beca makes her a fort. I expect both angst and fluff. And as you know, I need this post haste. Thank you and I miss you and come back to me, there is room in my blanket fort for you. — sent by scrawniest-calamity

It was a thing she did when the world seemed too big for her to breathe in - a way for her to gain some pause amidst a planetarium that was altogether wildly vast and small enough to suffocate in. The blankets and pillows weren’t enough to keep out the sounds of some-everything zipping around the inside of her head, but they were strong enough to keep away the sharp gusts of wind from the outside. They were enough to make her feel warm and close to something beyond the massivity of the outside air. They were enough to make her feel safe, protected and secure and capable of existing in a world outside of schedule and conflict and self. 

She’d learned, over the years, how to make these forts in more minimal ways. A pack of warm cookies from the store on her way back to class, or her favorite song accompanied by a walk around the campus’ corner-street cemetery. Ways that were considered, by and large, more “mature” means of coping with what she’d come to recognize as a complete inability to exist in some moments. Her favorite new way was standing by a certain redhead, feeling her hand in hers or groaning when she was pulled into a hug. The smell of vanilla lotion and citrus shampoo and a touch of sunscreen. All the safety and security of her blanket fort, wrapped into freckled skin and dark blue-rimmed pupils, pink and red and yellow and warm. 

Of course, she still made the blanket forts. When Chloe was too far away - tucked away in her room or the room of someone else she preferred not to think about - or too preoccupied with studying for Beca to justify interrupting her. Not to mention the weeks they spent off campus, for holidays or school breaks, when Beca  _most_ needed to feel the security of that kind of warmth. She spent the better half of Christmas break living within a blanket fort, skyping Chloe whenever the redhead wasn’t with family to try and feel less alone. Her laughter, pixelated and virtualized, echoed in the blanket walls and it was yet another reason Beca found for why she appreciated how the sheets knew what to trap in and what to keep out. 

It never occurred to Beca that Chloe needed this kind of security as well. She supposes, now, that that’s why Chloe would walk into a room and latch onto the first person she saw. It was why Chloe, when drunk, draped herself over every guest at the party, kissing strangers and occasionally not coming home. She never supposed that that was why Chloe painted her face so perfectly in smiles, radiating with songs and smirks. Because she needed to feel safe, too. 

So when she’s driving back from the studio and she sees Chloe’s car parked by the edge of the duck pond, she veers off her course home and goes on an unplanned hike to find Chloe perched on a rock, looking out at the sun that’s slowly setting with her fingers torn from nervous picking. There’s a shake to the way she inhales when she sees Beca, her face folding into a smile that’s weak and distant. 

“Hey,” she offers weakly, and Beca’s by her side now, enough to take her hand and flip it to it’s palm to trace the lines. 

“Hey, you,” Beca says back. Chloe’s wrapping her hand around Beca’s, using it to pull Beca close enough to burrow into. She breathes again, more shakily, like she’s cracking at the seams, and Beca tightens her grip around Chloe as if she could hold her together by force. 

“Want to talk about it?” Beca asks. Chloe shakes her head, her hands still in fists around Beca’s torso. Beca nods, pulling them up to stand, but she feels Chloe resist. “We’re going back home. Okay?” 

“Why?” 

“Because if we don’t, the girls will organize a search party.” 

“Becs, I don’t want to,” Chloe is looking up at Beca, who is standing, and she seems almost incapable of standing at all, despite the fact that she had to have some sort of means of getting to this place from the car in the first place. 

“I know,” Beca offers, “But, I can help. With…whatever. Just…um…just trust me, alright?” 

She’s holding her hand out to Chloe, and Chloe takes it, squeezing tightly before standing up completely and following Beca out of the pond area without a sound. 

They spend the entire car ride with Chloe’s legs pressed up against her chest, her cheek resting on her knees. Beca can hear her count her breaths, not realizing that she was counting too - a steady beat of one, two, three, four over and over through the stoplights and street signs that lead them to the Bella house. 

“So, right,” Beca says when they make it back to her room, “Give me, like, five minutes.” 

Chloe nods, and Beca starts taking the pillows off her bed (the pillows that Beca felt were completely and totally unnecessary but that Chloe felt were warranted by some universal law of interior design). She arranges them against each other before taking the blanket off the bed, stretching it over the space between her desk and her headboard. By the time she’s finished, there’s a bed that’s completely stripped of it’s clothes, and a shelter that couldn’t possibly withstand anything more than the soft sounds of a computer’s video player, but she stands, tall and embarrassed with her arms outstretched to complete the presentation. She’s biting her lip, but there’s a sparkle in her eyes that hint at pride, and Chloe can’t help but let out the smallest of smiles just as the look that Beca’s giving. 

“Becs,” she says, like it’s awaiting explanation. Beca shrugs. 

“Come on.” Beca crawls in through the tiny opening she’s concocted, and Chloe follows. There’s hardly enough room in the fort for the both of them, and Chloe has to use Beca’s body as a pillow, bending her legs to get her full body inside. It’s already warm, heavier with each breath, and beneath the pink sheets her skin turns a shade of peach. They sit there for a few moments. One, two, three, four playing in their head. 

“It helps me,” Beca tries, her voice cracking through the thick air and landing on Chloe like dew drops, “When I can’t get control of anything. Like, even my heart has turned on me somehow and no matter how much I try, there isn’t enough air in my head. When I feel like I could rip all my skin off because it’s just keeping me too Here, too Present, too Completely Involved in something I can’t handle. The blankets and stuff, it, like, it holds me down. But it doesn’t restrain me. Like I’m sleeping in a hug or something.” 

Chloe’s fingers are curling and uncurling around the hem of Beca’s shirt as she talks, and when she finishes, the redhead lets out the slightest chuckle. “Beca Mitchell sleeping inside a hug? You don’t even like spooning.” 

Lightly, Beca slaps the side of her head. “You don’t know that,” she says, rolling her eyes when Chloe looks up at her shocked. “And I’m trying to open up to you, so not teasing would be nice.” 

Chloe holds her hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just saying,” she says, and Beca swears she already feels the light coming back into her voice, “Thank you, Becs.” 

“Does it feel better?” 

Chloe breathes in deeply, letting it ripple over the blankets. “Kind of. Not completely. But this helps. And you help.” 

Beca nods. She presses her cheek against Chloe’s forehead, spreading her toes out as far as they can go. “Yeah, you do too,” she says softly, and Chloe hums in a way that sounds like it’s slowly recovering it’s strength. 

Within a few moments, Chloe is snoring, and Beca smiles, leaning into the noise until her eyelids grow heavier too. 

It’s a pause, a break in the world that’s moving impossibly fast and impossibly slow at the same time, and Beca sends a prayer of thanks to whomever is out there to listen whenever she gets this break, because it makes her feel like the cracks in her head aren’t being filled but are being pressed together - like the glue holding parts of her together hasn’t set quite yet. Today, though, Chloe is holding her together too - or rather, they’re holding each other together - and it feels better, safer, warmer. 

For a split second before she falls asleep, Beca curses herself. Because now that she’s shown Chloe this safeness - now that she’s allowed Chloe inside of it - it’s going to feel a hell of a lot shittier when Chloe’s not there with her. But she’ll deal with that later. 

 


	85. The One With the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness your minifics make my heart want to curl up in a ball and die.. But like in the best way. Idea maybe? Chloe and Beca are at the retreat and Chloe convinces beca to move their sleeping bags outside to sleep under the stars for cute/fluff moments and then the Bella's all find them in the morning and are all excited because they all were waiting for them to get together? You can tweak/add or do anything to this prompt because it will be amazing either way 

“This is dumb,” is what Beca says when Chloe nudges at the zipper of her sleeping bag for the second time - more forcefully this time - and points outside. 

“I hate bugs…shit!” is what Beca says when Chloe drags their sleeping bags out through the “door” of the tent and she steps on a slightly-larger-than-a-pebble rock that’s waiting for her on the cleared ground. 

“I’m not making out with you beneath the stars, or whatever Nicholas Sparks shit you’re planning,” is what Beca says when Chloe lays their sleeping bags down on the only patch of leaves and grass that is cleared of trees enough for the moonlight to brighten the area. This is the only time Chloe responds, throwing out a slight giggle, one that cracks on the end before dipping into a sly smirk. 

“Will you just shush,” she finally says when she gets herself situated on her sleeping bag, tapping the ground beside her for Beca to sit. “Because it’s the perfect night for this and your complaining is  _not_ why I asked you to come.” 

Beca grunts as she moves to sit beside Chloe. “Then why’d you ask me to come?” 

“Bec _ause,”_ Chloe starts, looking up at the sky and sighing, “I wanted to share this with someone, and that someone is you.” 

“That’s hardly an answer,” Beca grunts, but when Chloe shoots her a quick glare, she holds her hands up. “But fine. Whatever. Complaining over.” 

Satisfied, Chloe hums and leans back until she’s resting with her arms as pillows. Beca follows, and they watch the way the sky slowly moves, covered in milky dust and trails of outer space jewelry. 

“My dad used to take me out to places like this in between business trips,” Chloe starts, her voice blending into the melody of the crickets and the rustle of leaves. “He’d have about one weekend free each summer, right around the fourth of July. And my mom would argue and argue with him, because Jack was afraid of the dark and setting up the tent wasn’t easy and I somehow managed to get grass stains on my nightgowns whenever I slept outside. But he did it anyway, every year. Our only big tradition, yunno?” 

Beca nods, fully aware that Chloe can’t really see her, but believing that she can  _feel_ the motion. And she can, it seems, because she continues. 

“Anyway, it’s just…it’s very humbling, I think. To sit here and look up at the sky and see how impossibly small you are. It makes everything feel so much…more compact. Like in comparison to the world up there, the mess happening down here seems clean, almost. Or, at least, just not as massive as your head made it out to be.” 

Beca sighs. For a count of three seconds, they are silent, and Beca thinks she can hear Chloe breathing. She watches her chest rise and fall before glancing back up at the sky. “My dad, being a professor and all, like, hated the outside. But he liked the myths and shit that came with constellations. So…I dunno, he wasn’t super involved when I was younger, but I guess he told my mom all these stories. About ancient people and about their forgotten constellations. Like, everyone knows the Big Dipper, but no one knows about the other shit. So, apparently, he told my mom. And my mom told me. And, uh, that’s my story.” 

Chloe shifts, turning so that her body is facing Beca. 

“But, um,” Beca licks her lips, still looking up at the sky, “I guess the point there is that it’s not really unorganized up there. Yunno? Like, every star has it’s place. And every place tells a story. Or, I guess, we just like to think of it that way. Because it makes the unorganized shit down here easier.” 

Chloe chuckles, and Beca turns to face her, watching the way that the moon bounces off the bridge of her nose and outlines the curve of her cheekbone. She’d always known Chloe to be light - yellows and reds and fire and flowers - but she thinks that even in the darkness Chloe can shine. Between shades of blues and purples and blacks, Chloe glows in a different way. Like a flash of the morning sky before the sun gets a chance to rise. 

“I’m sorry about everything, you know,” Beca tries, but the words seem too light, like they don’t stick anywhere, and she knows that’s because she can’t focus on anything but the way that Chloe is looking at her. 

“It’s beautiful,” is what Chloe says in response, though it isn’t an answer to Beca’s words, and she isn’t glancing at the sky, and when she closes her eyes for a fraction of a second, Beca wonders if she’s eaten one too many marshmallows and has gotten drunk off the sugar. 

“Yeah, you are,” is what Beca says when Chloe reaches a hand out to brush against the line of her jaw and then trace her lips, leaning closer before she knows she should properly react. And then, though Beca thinks it’s the largest cliche in the world, she makes the discovery that there are galaxies behind her eyelids with Chloe pressed against her front, only these are new and exploding and different, and they burn in a way that the cold night sky couldn’t possibly. 

She learns, too, that there are constellations on Chloe’s back, dotted and spotted in freckles that make pictures if Beca has enough time to trace them - and she does. 

And she thinks, closing her eyes to sleep as the sun rises, that maybe, in spite of the sky, these things aren’t so small at all. Maybe they  _are_ massive and burning and bigger than description. 

–

“Holy shit,” is what Cynthia Rose says when she trips over the root of a tree and walks into the open(ish) field to see Beca and Chloe wrapped in each other’s arms, their sleeping bags zipped together. 

“Aca-finally,” is what Stacie mutters when she follows behind, barely glancing up from her nailbuds. 

“Well, now, this throws off the whole lesbi-ratio,” is what Amy says as she hits the side of a tree and throws her hands up in exasperation, “They could’ve kept it in their pants until graduation so that this group wasn’t  _full_ of lady lovers.” 

“O.M. ACA-G, THIS IS ADORABLE,” is what Emily squeaks when she skips on behind the line of the other girls to see what they’re all talking about. It’s enough to wake Beca up, and when she opens her eyes, she sees Chloe’s smiling ones first before she greets the crowd of shocked and excited faces surrounding her. 

“Let’s go, ladies! Just because your captains think this is an appropriate time to feel each other up doesn’t mean you can dwadle. We’ve got work to do,” is what Aubrey huffs when she reaches the clearing. And Chloe laughs into Beca’s shoulder, letting it grow into a cackle that stretches to Beca and forces the smaller girl to throw her head back in laughter that comes straight from her gut. 

The sky, she notices, is clear of clouds, but the moon is still sitting on the edge, fading. 

 


	86. The One With the Texts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it holds a special place in my heart whenever in a fic chloe and beca text each other sweet things do you thing you could write something with just a lot of that ? literally whatever else happens is completely up to you — sent by anonymous

_[That One Sexy Redhead You Know (3:32pm)]: I miss you already, you know_

> _[Gal Pal (3:43pm)]: You’re a loser_
> 
> _[Gal Pal (3:44pm)]: I’m not even on the freeway yet_

_[That One Sexy Redhead You Know (3:46pm)]: First, you shouldn’t be texting and driving_

_[That One Sexy Redhead You Know (3:46pm)]: Second, I’m your loser_

_[That One Sexy Redhead You Know (3:47pm)]: Don’t even try to deny it_

> _[Gal Pal (3:50pm)]: Whatever, loser_
> 
> _[Gal Pal (3:52pm)]: I love you_
> 
> _[Gal Pal (3:55pm)]:  Don’t over-water our plants, please_

_[That One Sexy Redhead You Know (3:57pm)]: I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m an excellent plant care-taker._

> _[Gal Pal (4:00pm)]:  Whatever you say. Just, like, remember that they’re cacti. They don’t need to be watered twice a day._

_[That One Sexy Redhead You Know (4:01pm)]: Why are you so hesitant to LOVE, Becs?!_

> _[Gal Pal (4:02 pm)]: I’m done talking to you._

_[That One Sexy Redhead You Know (4:03pm)]: …_

> _[Gal Pal (4:07pm)]:  Chill, I just have to go through security and shit._
> 
> _[Gal Pal (4:07pm)]: I’m already late._
> 
> _[Gal Pal (4:08pm)]: Because of SOMEONE._

_[That One Sexy Redhead You Know (4:09pm)]: Oops._

_[That One Sexy Redhead You Know (4:09pm)]: Okay._

_[That One Sexy Redhead You Know (4:10pm)]: Be safe. Please._

> _[Gal Pal (4:16pm)]: Always am._

_[That One Sexy Redhead You Know (4:17pm)]: I’ll be waitin’_

> _[Gal Pal (4:23pm)]: Yup. Counting on it._

> _[The girl who abandoned me (10:29pm)]: You’re literally texting me WHILE we’re skyping, Chlo_

__[Apparently smells like blueberry muffins (10:30pm)]:_ So? _

> __[The girl who abandoned me (10:32pm)]:_  So why is this happening _

___[Apparently smells like blueberry muffins (10:33pm)]:__ Because while I listen to you tell me about how terrible the stepmonster’s family is, I want to remind you how much I love you _

___[Apparently smells like blueberry muffins (10:33pm)]:__ But I don’t want to interrupt_

___[Apparently smells like blueberry muffins (10:34pm)]:__ Because I’m not rude _

> __[The girl who abandoned me (10:36pm)]:_ You were looking down when I rolled my eyes, so I’ll do it again via text to reiterate my point. *rolls eyes* _

___[Apparently smells like blueberry muffins (10:47pm)]:__ You know, the webcam and that neckline is doing wonders for how much I miss you _

> __[The girl who abandoned me (10:49pm)]:_  We’re already video chatting, I’m not sexting you Chloe_

___[Apparently smells like blueberry muffins (10:50pm)]:__ Party pooper _

> __[The girl who abandoned me (10:51pm)]:_  I’m going to hang up. _

_–_

> _[Back in 3 Days (11:31am)]: Everyone wants to know about my friend._
> 
> __[Back in 3 Days (11:31am)]:_ Sheila - “They’re just the cutest. Sleepovers all the time.” _

_[Titanium Idiot (11:38am)]: You should tell her exactly what we do at those sleepovers_

__[Titanium Idiot (11:38am)]:_ It’ll knock those southern housewives off their fancy behinds _

> __[Back in 3 Days (11:40am)]:_ You can’t tell me to detail to my soon-to-be step mom our sex life and then be incapable of using the word ass _

__[Titanium Idiot (11:41am)]:_ I’m a LADY, Becs. I have manners._

> __[Back in 3 Days (11:42am)]:_ Sure you do _
> 
> __[Back in 3 Days (11:45am)]:_ But seriously, get a plane ticket _
> 
> __[Back in 3 Days (11:45am)]:_ Because this is hell_

__[Titanium Idiot (11:47am)]:_ Aw, you DO miss me _

> __[Back in 3 Days (11:48am)]:_ Either that or I want to see how the flower girl’s mom would react to us macking on eachother for a hot sex_
> 
> __[Back in 3 Days (11:48am)]:_ *hot sec _
> 
> __[Back in 3 Days (11:48am)]:_ Yeesh that was a badly placed autocorrect _

__[Titanium Idiot (11:50am)]:_ Hmmm, autocorrect = Sigmund Freud 2.0 _

> __[Back in 3 Days (11:52am)]:_ Shut up _
> 
> __[Back in 3 Days (11:52am)]:_ But also I do miss you_
> 
> __[Back in 3 Days (11:53am)]:_ And I know you would spike the punch _

__[Titanium Idiot (11:54am)]:_ Oh without a doubt _

__[Titanium Idiot (11:58am)]:_ Check your snapchat _

__[Titanium Idiot (11:58am)]:_ I’m with Bree _

__[Titanium Idiot (11:59am)]:_ We’re color-coding _

__[Titanium Idiot (11:59am)]:_ So…maybe wedding prep is better than that? _

> __[Back in 3 Days (12:03pm)]:_ Nice try _
> 
> __[Back in 3 Days (12:04pm)]:_ Bree would _ _certainly come in handy here tho_

__[Titanium Idiot (12:07pm)]:_ I’ll tell her that _

__[Titanium Idiot (12:07pm)]:_ And then start looking up flights to NC for her _

> __[Back in 3 Days (12:08pm)]:_ Don’t you dare _

__[Titanium Idiot (12:10pm)]:_ You love me _

> __[Back in 3 Days (12:11pm)]:_ Is that a question or a statement?_
> 
> __[Back in 3 Days (12:11pm)]:_ Because either way, yes. _
> 
> __[Back in 3 Days (12:12pm)]:_ Somehow. _

_–_

> _[2 Days is 2 Long (3:02am)]: I really fucking miss you_
> 
> __[2 Days is 2 Long (3:02am)]:_ I know that’s dumb_
> 
> __[2 Days is 2 Long (3:03am)]:_ But rehearsal dinner was…_
> 
> __[2 Days is 2 Long (3:03am)]:_ I hate it here _
> 
> __[2 Days is 2 Long (3:05am)]:_ And I think it’s bc you’re not here _
> 
> __[2 Days is 2 Long (3:06am)]:_ Or at least that’s part of it_
> 
> __[2 Days is 2 Long (3:06am)]:_ Either way_
> 
> __[2 Days is 2 Long (3:09am)]:_ I’m tipsy af and I miss you and it’s not fair _
> 
> __[2 Days is 2 Long (3:09am)]:_ That you couldn’t come _
> 
> __[2 Days is 2 Long (3:11am)]:_ So just…like…i love you_
> 
> __[2 Days is 2 Long (3:14am)]:_ And i can’t sleep_
> 
> __[2 Days is 2 Long (3:16am)]:_ And they keep this house too cold _
> 
> __[2 Days is 2 Long (3:19am)]:_ Are you awake? _
> 
> __[2 Days is 2 Long (3:22am)]:_ Fuck, you’re not. _
> 
> __[2 Days is 2 Long (3:22am)]:_ Obvs. _
> 
> __[2 Days is 2 Long (3:24am)]:_ Whatever, ignore me_

_[The Girlfriend (3:37am)]: Sorry!_

__[The Girlfriend (3:37am)]:_ No, i’m here! _

__[The Girlfriend (3:37am)]:_ I dozed off for a sec _

__[The Girlfriend (3:38am)]:_ But i’m here. _

__[The Girlfriend (3:40am)]:_ Finally a use for my “ridiculous body temperature”? _

__[The Girlfriend (3:41am)]:_ Just kidding. _

__[The Girlfriend (3:41am)]:_ I miss you too Becs _

__[The Girlfriend (3:46am)]:_ Are you okay? _

> __[2 Days is 2 Long (3:47am)]:_ Yeah. Yeah. I’m just being dumb. _
> 
> __[2 Days is 2 Long (3:50am)]:_ Can I call you tho?_
> 
> __[2 Days is 2 Long (3:52am)]:_ We don’t have to talk_
> 
> __[2 Days is 2 Long (3:53am)]:_ Just…i kinda wanna hear you next to me_
> 
> __[2 Days is 2 Long (3:55am)]:_ is that weird? _
> 
> __[2 Days is 2 Long (3:57am)]:_ it is. _
> 
> __[2 Days is 2 Long (3:57am)]:_ Sorry. _

**The Girlfriend is calling.**

–

_[The Hot Weasley (10:59am)]: Where’s the wedding at again?_

> _[SOON (11:01am)]: Huh?_

__[The Hot Weasley (11:02am)]:_ Like, where’s the wedding at? _

__[The Hot Weasley (11:02am)]:_ Not…like i know it’s in NC_

__[The Hot Weasley (11:02am)]:_ But where_

__[The Hot Weasley (11:03am)]:_ Venue-wise _

> __[SOON (11:09am)]:_ Um…I’ll email you the address real quick _
> 
> __[SOON (11:11am)]:_ Why? _

__[The Hot Weasley (11:14am)]:_ No reason _

_–_

__[The Hot Weasley (11:32am)]:_ I was right _

> __[*sigh* (11:35am)]:_ About what? _

__[The Hot Weasley (11:36am)]:_ That dress _

__[The Hot Weasley (11:36am)]:_ I told you it looked good on you _

__[The Hot Weasley (11:36am)]:_ And it does _

__[The Hot Weasley (11:37am)]:_ Like…hot damn. _

__[The Hot Weasley (11:37am)]:_ If we weren’t in the middle of a wedding ceremony, I’d jump your bones _

> ____[*sigh* (11:38am)]:__  _What? _
> 
> ____[*sigh* (11:38am)]:___ Wtf? _
> 
> ____[*sigh* (11:40am)]:___ What the fuck do you mean_

__[The Hot Weasley (11:42am)]:_ I mean you look REALLY good in that dress _

__[The Hot Weasley (11:43am)]:_ And your Uncle David smells like he uses too much Axe bodyspray _

> ____[*sigh* (11:49am)]:___ I’m going to kill you_

__[The Hot Weasley (11:50am)]:_ Well, at least now you don’t have to do it virtually _

__[The Hot Weasley (11:52am)]:_ Save me a dance at the reception? _

> ____[*sigh* (11:53am)]:___ All of them _
> 
> ____[*sigh* (11:53am)]:___ You’ve got all of them _

__[The Hot Weasley (11:54am)]:_ Good _

__[The Hot Weasley (11:54am)]:_ You might have short legs but you’re a damn good partner_

> ____[*sigh* (11:57am)]:___ God fucking damnit I love you _

__[The Hot Weasley (12:00pm)]:_ I know _

__[The Hot Weasley (12:00pm)]:_ Me too _


	87. The One With Nieces and Nephews

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca spends Christmas with Chloe's family and beca plays with her nieces and nephews and sees how good she is with kids — sent by anonymous

“Yeah, well, Beca’s not a big Christmas person,” Chloe muttered, taking a sip of hot cocoa from the Santa mug her mom handed her. “Or a family person. Or a kid person. In fact, I’m thinking she’d claim she’s not a person at all, but, like, a ball of metal and emotionlessness.” She glanced briefly at the oven to check on the last minute batch of cookies baking there, opening the door despite her mother’s constant reminders that that only makes the cookies bake longer. 

“You sure about that?” Her mom seemed questioning, and Chloe could hear the smirk playing at her lips before she turned around to see her mother looking straight ahead into the living room with her eyebrows raised. 

“What’re you–” Chloe started, but stopped the minute she saw Beca, who, admittedly, disappeared after dinner with the escape of a classic bathroom excuse. Chloe assumed that enduring an hour of her father’s constant questioning as to her career prospects, coupled with her grandmother’s inability to call them anything more than “really close friends” (which ended up being humorous to Chloe, because it started her grandmother on quite a long story about her own “really close” girl friend, who, if the redhead had to guess, was just as “really close” as Beca was to her), warranted a solid forty-five minutes to an hour of deep-breathing in the back bathroom for Beca. Which was why she pecked Beca’s cheek as the smaller girl stood up and didn’t question her absence throughout the process of cookie-making. It was nice to catch up with her mother anyway. 

But what she didn’t expect was to see Beca sprawled on the ground, groaning between giggles as three tiny humans pulled her in various directions and/or sat on various limbs. Chloe’s brother, the football star of Barden three years before she rolled on through, had taken the 2.5 kids and a white picket fence thing to heart pretty quickly on in his life, which resulted in two nephews and one niece born within fifteen months of each other (they started out with twins and went from there). And, while Chloe could never fault her brother and his wife - both of whom had full-time jobs - for the way their children behaved, she could very easily acknowledge that the three children watched entirely too much MTV for three and four year olds, and had an unhealthy obsession with college football that really could only be pointed to one person. Regardless, to say that the three kids were a handful was an understatement. They were an armful, a legful, a torsofull, a crowd-of-people-full, and no one ever really managed to keep them still and quiet for long. So although Chloe was surprised to see Beca locked to the ground with three small humans climbing over her, she wasn’t surprised by the fact that those three small humans managed to tackle someone to the ground and keep them there for an extended period of time. 

Chloe’s mom watched the scene, chuckling all the while at the way Beca tried to lift herself up and how her failure catalyzed a series of giggles from the kids that tore through the house. When Beca finally made eye-contact with Chloe throughout the ordeal, Chloe’s face was lined with concern for the smaller woman - the only thing shorter than her actual self was her temper, and kids never really seemed to be up her alley. But Beca smiled at the look of worry on Chloe’s face, throwing out a confident wink before suddenly turning around and grabbing one of the children by the waist, growling dramatically. 

“What do you think you’re doing,” she said in her best monster voice, poking the little girl’s sides and causing her to break out in a fit of giggles. “Who does this crazy kid think she is?” 

The two boys looked at each other excitedly, their eyes twinkling with mischief before they shrugged and laughed. Beca raised her eyebrows, lifting the little girl up. “Well, I think we’re gonna have to help her out, huh?” 

The boys nodded, and Beca smiled. Quickly, she sat up, turning the little girl on her back and motioning for the two boys to come closer. “Dr. Beale, can you please give me the Tickle Tool?” 

The little boy to her left high-fived her, which, apparently, was enough because she immediately used that energy to tickle the little girl until she broke into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. When Beca stopped, she turned to the other little boy. “And Dr. Beale Numero Dos, could you please pass me the Crazy Diffuser?” 

In the same motion as his brother, the little boy slapped Beca’s hand, and she used the energy to bend down and blow raspberries on the little girl’s stomach, pulling out even more giggles until Beca picked her up and threw her up in the air quickly. On the way down, Beca caught her, letting her wrap around Beca and lean her head in as her giggles settled down. Beca hugged her tightly, swinging her from side to side. When she finally faced Chloe, the redhead’s mouth had all but fallen to the floor as smoke was coming from the oven and the alarm was going off. 

“Shit,” Chloe said hurriedly, turning towards the oven and opening it to a cloud of black smoke and the undeniable scent of burning. “Shit, shit, shit.” 

“Hey, Chlo,” Beca said from behind her, the little girl still in her arms, “Language, please.” 

 


	88. The One With Shower Singing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANNA I HAVE A MIGHTY NEED FOR YOU TO WRITE A MINIFIC OF CHLOE SINGING JESSE'S GIRL IN THE SHOWER OR SOMETHING AND BECA HEARING — sent by puppycormierr

Sure, they had a thing about shower singing. That much was obvious, considering their first official meeting was in the very public shower stalls of the Barden freshman dorm. But when Beca sang through the shower, it was garbled and broken up between lyrics that she never really knew the words to, lost in the seam of other songs poking through her brain, and eventually seeping out into hums and weak choruses that never seemed to fit the day properly. When Chloe sang, it was loud, confident, pouring through the steam-filled crack in the doorway and slipping over everything, coating it all in a thin layer of hot dew and citrus soap bubbles. Beca didn’t know when it became her favorite time of the day, but her need for it kind of snuck up on her the way 9pm darkness sneaks into a room when you’re too focused to pay attention to the lights. But she started to rely on the thirty-seven minutes Chloe spent in the shower, breathing in the heat that creeped from the room and tapping her fingers to the melody that Chloe chose to sing that day. 

Beca found that listening to Chloe sing in the shower was almost like writing in a diary. Somehow, as if by some stroke of psychic magic, Chloe could pick the song that precisely fit Beca’s day, running over words that a montage of the previous hours could flow seamlessly into. It made her feel like she understood the complicated and mundane actions of her day just a little bit better, and cleared her mind of the dirt and muck that collected there over the course of her waking hours. It made her feel clean, and right, and pure, and she found herself leaning heavily on these thirty seven minutes - sneaking into Chloe’s room to sit on the floor and finish her school work, or tap out a mix to whatever Chloe chose for that day. She avoided making plans for that time of night, pushing back dinner until after Chloe was done so that they could eat together and Beca could watch as one spare droplet fell from the back of Chloe’s neck. On the days that Chloe was too busy to shower, Beca felt heavier and more muddled, snapping at even more people than she normally did. 

She knew it was creepy - Stacie already made plenty of comments about how Peeking Toms never really get the girl in the end - but she found that she couldn’t really pull away from this small happiness in her nighttime routine. She found that she didn’t really want to. 

Today, she sat on the edge of Chloe’s bed with a nutrition bar in one hand and a poorly drawn diagram of Bella choreography in the other. Already sinking into the tone of Chloe’s voice, she hadn’t noticed the song or the lyrics until something crashing downstairs managed to wake her up. Her body, though, or some part of the back of her mind, seemed to be aware, as she’d bitten her lip to the point where her mouth tasted of iron and salt. 

Because she hears her name in the lyrics, though not explicitly, there’s a hint of herself inside of them - and a hint of Chloe, too, and this song is different, so different from the others. There’s a pain in Chloe’s croon, a kind of pang of hurt and disappointment and desperation that Beca isn’t used to hearing. When she sings “You know I wish that I had Jessie’s girl”, there’s a pull at the “wish”. Like she’s just willing it to happen inside a ritual of steam and soap bubbles and half-dried hand towels. 

Through the lyrics, Beca can see the sweet smiles - the way that Chloe always pecks a kiss on her cheek before going to her morning class, or sinks into bed beside her when she can’t sleep. She sees the extra twinkle to her laugh when Beca tells a joke, or the victory that sparks in her eye when Beca chooses to close the distance between their figures. 

She can also see the way Chloe gets quiet when Beca’s not alone, her tone dull and blank when she answers the door to see Jesse with his kind smile and awkward wave of his hand. She sees the way she bites at her lip when Beca complains about some mundane mistake Jesse made, like she’s holding something back. 

Chloe Beale is not one to hold back, to hide, or to dull herself in anyway. And it’s clear that with Beca she remains some variation of restrained. Her voice, her tone, the way that she pleads with the lyrics, shows this clearly, because there’s still a some string keeping her from belting everything out, pulling her until it all cracks at the highest point of the song and breaks into something akin to soft sobs. It’s with these quiet tears that she finishes, crashing through the lines, “I want, I want Jessie’s girl.” 

 


	89. The One With Tattoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca and Chloe get matching tattoos — sent by anonymous

“This is dumb,” Beca grumbled when Chloe pushed through the door and into the shop, being greeted by harsh heavy metal and poorly chosen wall decals that appeared to have a theme of skulls and flame. 

“Hush,” Chloe said in a low voice, “You’re just scared.” 

“You know what? I was wrong. This isn’t dumb. You are,” Beca shot, crossing her arms before a man came by on wheelies, stopping himself by the desk and holding his hand out. His arm was covered in navy blue ink of various designs and patterns that seemed nonsensical to Beca, and he had more piercings along the line of his ear than even she had. He introduced himself as Thad, which immediately made Beca cringe enough to earn a slap from Chloe, and when the redhead explained what they wanted, he smiled and said, “You know, I was, like, totally excited about that Supreme Court thingy, just for the record.” 

So she decided that it would make the most sense to go first, because the sweat on her lip could be blamed on the uncertainty of the process (despite having already done this before), and not on the general fear of getting a series of needle pricks covered in ink to permanently coat her wrist in a proclamation of her love for another human being. She was more scared than she’d ever been before, and she assumed it was because she could be confident in music, and in a symbol of her childhood, amongst other things that were inherently  _her,_ but this was new. This was a way of saying: Something outside of yourself is permanent and incapable of being run away from. 

Still, the pain felt good, and Chloe’s smile and occasional squeals of excitement sank into her bloodstream enough that she started to revel in it all. Because inside the warm of the hand she held, she felt the same permanence she felt when she turned on her computer and started to mix - the same permanence she felt when she looked at photo albums of her growing up - the same permanence she felt when she looked in the mirror before a shower and traced the ink that already lie there. 

And it looked right on their wrists, all things said and done, Beca’s cursive scrawl stretching from Chloe’s wrist into the bubbly font of Chloe’s handwriting on Beca’s list. It sparked something - seemed to glow beyond the typical redness that occurred soon after getting a tattoo, and Beca ran her fingers carefully over it to feel it spark fresh familiarity under her skin. 

“We are titanium,” Chloe whispered into her ear when they went to bed that night, her fingers tracing the new tattoo that lined Beca’s body as she read the words out. “Dumb?” 

“No,” Beca said immediately, twisting her own fingers over Chloe’s new ink.  _We are titanium. “_ Definitely not.” 


	90. The One With Guitar Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you write something where beca and Chloe are playing guitar hero — sent by anonymous

“Dude, you suck,” Beca muttered from the edge of the couch, watching Chloe try and miss every note that passed over the screen. The steady beat of the song was being thrown off as the video game replicated the missed notes in weak strums.

“I do NOT suck!” Chloe squeaked. She turned to face Beca, indignant, but turned back immediately when Beca pointed back to the screen with her eyebrows raised.

“You  _so_ totally suck,” Beca muttered. She turned back to her phone, clicking on the camera and trying to record the way the Chloe’s tongue was sticking out in concentration, the guitar bouncing up and down in a way that did  _not_ fit with the Black Sabbath she was ‘rocking’ out to. Finally the game gave up on her efforts, breaking down in a jangle of drums and speaker sounds and the words GAME OVER stretching across the screen. “Told you,” Beca stood up, pulling her sweatshirt down where it rode up.

“Whatever,” Chloe said, sticking her tongue out. “You’re not any better.”

“Psshh, girl,” Beca bent her leg when she walked, wiping invisible lint off her shoulders, “Rock and roll is my middle name.”

“We’ll see,” Chloe hummed, sticking her legs underneath her when she sat on the couch. “Proceed.”

The song cued up, and Beca started to immediately hit the notes, pressing so hard on the buttons that the clack was louder than the music was. Still, she hit them on the mark, note after note as words of encouragement popped up on the screen. She started to smile, her tongue sticking out between her teeth. Slowly, as the words started to scroll across the screen, Beca started to sing under breath to keep up with the music. The lyrics rolled out, and her voice got louder. She started to bounce, throwing her head back once to wink at Chloe, who was - as payback - filming her too. When she noticed the phone, she wiggled - her head down to her hips and ending by cocking her hip by the end of the guitar solo.

By the time the song ended, the bun that Beca had started with was deflated, wisps turning into locks that fell out completely with the rubber band barely hanging on. She was out of breath, her cheeks red, but her lips were pursed victoriously. “Told you I could rock.”

Chloe shrugged, pulling her socks up. “Whatever,” she said easily, “I’ve never seen a rock n’ roller so small.”

Beca threw up a middle finger. “And so adorable,” Chloe continued, grinning.

“You know you suck, right?”


	91. The One Where It's Pop Not Soda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yoooo you should totally make a minific where beca says pop and Chloe's like aw that's so cute and adorable and beca's like dude chill it's no biggie and chlo like keeps using the word throughout the day and it's just really cute w lots of fluff (yep I read the tags) — sent by anonymous

“I’m getting something to eat,” Chloe said. She sat up straight, turning at the hip towards Beca. “Want anything?”

Beca adjusted her feet to stick them into the cracks of the cushion. While she stretched her arms, she shrugged slightly. “Nah, I’m good. Just, like, hurry up. Cuz…You’re my foot warmer.”

Chloe rolled her eyes, standing up and walking into the kitchen.

“Wait,” Beca popped up from the back of the couch, “Can you get me some pop?”

There was silence for a moment, and Beca heard the fridge close. “Some what?”

“…Some pop,” Beca said slowly. “Is there an issue?”

Chloe peeked out from behind the couch, turning towards Beca excitedly. “Pop?”

Beca rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Chlo, I am dying of thirst, can we not do this?”

Slapping her shoulder lightly, Chloe’s other arm reached out a can of Coke. When she handed it to Beca, she kissed her cheek, “Here’s your pop, babe.”

She climbed over the couch, nuzzling into Beca. “Also you’re the cutest damn thing in the world.”

“Shut up,” Beca muttered. She sipped her drink. “I hate you.”

It was an argument she was  _really_ tired of having. Sure, she could’ve maybe started to use the word soda - and she did, momentarily, consider the option of not drinking pop at all. Because she wanted to avoid as many times as possible the smirk that Chloe gave her whenever she said the word. Which inevitably led to her bickering about the insignificance of regional dialect, which Chloe really did not understand.

And just as much as Beca tried to avoid the use of the word, Chloe tried her best to bring it up as much as possible. Which involved a lot of annoyed sighs carrying through grocery stores and dinners. She brought the other Bellas in on it too, opening the fridge to find every can labeled “soda” with post-it notes. She could count on both hands the amount of time Chloe would pull out Pepsi just to open it up, take a sip, and sigh dramatically, saying, “Oh man, this _soda_ is JUST what the doctor ordered”. Which was amusing in it’s own way, actually, because Chloe - who just drank green smoothies and protein shakes - always tried to pretend she actually enjoyed what she was drinking, gulping down the whole thing in one sip under the watchful glare of Beca. She’d end with a burp louder than the rest of the house, surprising even herself, and making Emily nervously run into the room to ask if anything was wrong.

Which, as a whole, almost made the whole soda/pop game humorous. Almost.

Because Beca struggled through her class a week later, relying solely on the distraction of Chloe’s texts.

_[(Chloe) 12:37pm]: Hey, i got something for you_

_[(Beca) 12:38pm]: Okayyyy?_

_[(Chloe) 12:41pm]: Wanna see?!_

_[(Beca) 12:42pm]: Um…no?_

_[(Beca) 12:42pm]: I’m gonna be home in like five minutes anyway…_

_[(Chloe) 12:43pm]:_

_[(Beca) 12:45pm]: wtf chlo_

_[(Chloe) 12:46pm]: Sorry_

_[(Chloe) 12:46pm]: I just wanna…_

_[(Chloe) 12:46pm]: Share a POP with you._

_[(Beca) 12:51pm]: Fuck you_

It only ended when they sat together at a party, sipping drinks that were decidedly not pop-like, though that didn’t stop Chloe from cracking more jokes.

“If you keep this up, I’ll move back home, where they won’t judge me for my word choice,” Beca grunted. Chloe, who was already half drunk, gasped dramatically. One hand flew to Beca’s arm, squeezing it tightly.

“Ohmygod, Becs, no,” she said in a rushed tone, “No no no that can’t happen.”

“Chloe,” Beca said slowly, tearing Chloe’s fingers from her arm - which now had white marks where Chloe was pressing, “Chill. You’re so gullible when you’re drunk.”

Chloe hummed. “Yeah, well, you’re cute when you’re drinking pop. POP,” she make a popping noise, smacking her lips around the p’s. “POP.”

Every time she said it, she poked Beca on the nose. “POP. POP. POP.”

Beca squinched and turned away, shaking her head and shoving at Chloe’s forehead when she tried to get close again. “I see why you like it, Beca,” she said with a giggle. Reaching out around Beca’s shoving arms, she got to her nose again. “POP.” She giggled again, her tongue sticking out between her teeth. “I’m never saying soda for the rest of my life.”


	92. The One With Our Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow ok honestly I never used to read fan fiction but your minifics got me hooked they are just like so fantastically written it hurts like the biggest props to you. I don't know if this has been submitted before but maybe one where chloe gets drunk and beca helps her to bed and chloe sings to her in her sleep and you know added fluff or whatever you want I'd read it either way... ANYWAYS you're awesome. — sent by anonymous

“You have, like,  _really_ pretty eyes,” Chloe giggled, her nose brushing over Beca’s. When she breathed, Beca nearly choked on the undeniable scent of vodka on her breath, thinking it might have been enough to burn the peach fuzz on her chin. “I just wanteddd to tell you that.”

“Thanks, Chlo,” Beca answered with a sigh, winking. “Now, hands up. Please.”

Chloe just giggled in response. She threw her hands up, her eyes closed. “Knew you’d get me out of my clothes eventually,” she hummed.

Beca bit her lip, reaching for the hem of Chloe’s dress and pulling it off like ripping off a band-aid. Which, really, was quite a good comparison, because it stung and it burned, and Beca could feel the imprint that the brush of Chloe’s ribs on her knuckles made. She gasped, but it was quiet and small enough to go unnoticed. “Chloe, it’s your body. You can open your eyes.”

“Oh,” Chloe opened her eyes, squinching her nose. “Oops.”

She was rocking in a slight circle where she sat on her bed, wiping her eyes so that the eyeliner there was smeared to the point beyond repair. “Okay, Chlo,” Beca said, her hands on the other woman’s bare shoulders, “We’re gonna get you some water, yeah?”

Chloe just hummed, resting her head on Beca’s hand until Beca pulled away. “Real pretty eyes,” she said quietly when Beca walked into the bathroom. Beca used the opportunity to take a deep breath, counting to four a few times as the water ran into the cup and then deciding that washing her face quickly wouldn’t be a bad idea. By the time she emerged from the bathroom, she found Chloe curled into the tightest ball on her bed in her bra and underwear. Her head was nuzzled into the pillow so that all that Beca saw was a mess of red hair and the freckles dotting Chloe’s back.

“Fuck me,” Beca muttered, putting the glass on the nightstand and nudging Chloe enough to slip her under the covers. She tried to steal a pillow out from beneath that ball of human that was Chloe, but the minute she tugged, Chloe squinched her nose and groaned. “Wha’re yo’doing?”

“Trying to make a place to sleep, because some drunkie has stolen my bed,” Beca muttered. She tried to pull her hands away to throw her hair up into a bun, but Chloe was digging her forehead into the pillow to keep Beca’s hand hostage.

“Slee’ here, silly,” Chloe said. She reached her hand up to wrap around Beca’s wrist, lightly. “Please.”

Beca rolled her eyes, prying Chloe’s fingers from her wrist and ignoring the way her stomach was flipping. She blamed it on the fact that she was drunk off the alcohol on Chloe’s breath, and not on the fact that when she slipped under the blankets, Chloe wrapped herself around her and hummed into her neck.

“ _I was riding’ shot gun with my hair undone in the front seat of her car.”_

“Chloe, no,” Beca said immediately when she heard Chloe start to smile in the way she did when she was about to sing.

“ _She had one hand on the steering wheel, and the other on my heart oh._ ”

Beca stuffed her nose into the pillow, letting out an audible groan.

 _“I looked around turned the radio down, she said ‘baby is something wrong’.”_ Beca felt fingers against the inside of her elbow, dancing a beat over them. “ _I say nothing I was just thinkin’ how we don’t have a song….”_

“I hate you,” Beca said, and Chloe giggled in response. It bubbled through and fit the pause in the song, sending shivers down Beca’s neck.

“ _And she said, ‘Our song is the slammin’ swing door, sneaking out late tapping on. your. window,”_ she poked Beca’s side to punctuate the notes, “ _When we’re on the phone and you talk realllll slow, cuz it’s late and yo’ momma don’t know._ Come on, Becs, you know you wanna….”

Beca sighed dramatically, briefly considering the possibility of pretending she didn’t know the song. But she could still smell the vodka, and there was glitter on her pillow, and she assumed whatever happened wouldn’t be remembered the next morning. So she took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes closed. “ _Our song is the way you laugh, our first date when I didn’t kiss you and I should have. And when I got home.”_

“‘Fore I said amen. Asking God if he…”

 _“Could play it again…._ Goddamn you, Chloe. No more drinking. Like. Ever. _”_


	93. The One with the Kids Movie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> minific where chloe drags an unwilling beca to a really stupid animated kid's movie and beca sits through the first half hour really sulkily but then later chloe sneaks looks at her and she's enjoying the heck out of it??? i live for your fics, srsly — sent by anonymous

“We’re adults, Chlo,” Beca grumbled as Chloe stood at the counter, waiting for their tickets to be printed. 

“Yeah but where’s the fun in that?” Chloe argued, taking the tickets and heading for the snack counter with a quick and easy “thanks a bunch”. “Besides, if we have to act like adults, then you can’t single-handedly keep concessions in business like usual.” 

“Completely different situation,” Beca said quickly through gritted teeth before smiling up at the woman working behind the counter. She proceeded to order fifteen dollars worth of candy, stacking the boxes between her hands and her chin without handing any to Chloe even though she offered to help. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Chloe said through a chuckle. 

“I didn’t have lunch,” Beca said defensively. They walked into the theater while the movie was starting, lights turning down before they made it to the main auditorium. 

“I told you we were going to be late,” Chloe said under her breath as she sped up the staircase. 

“Oh so you wanted me to go to the movies sans pants, woman?” 

Chloe laughed, plucking one of the candy boxes out of Beca’s lap. She ran her pinky over the break in the box, opening it. “It’s a G-rated movie, Beca,” she said with faux-shock, “Don’t be so naughty.” 

Beca rolled her eyes, throwing a handful of gummies in Chloe’s face before turning towards the screen. It was colorful, so bright that Beca had to squint at first to adjust. They were halfway through the first musical number. 

“I can’t believe you took me to a movie,” Beca whispered, “And this movie, of all of them.” 

“No talking, Becs,” Chloe said, throwing her arm around Beca and pulling her in so that she could kiss her temple with candy stained lips. “You’re cute, but it’s time to shut up.” 

Beca grumbled, crossing her arms. Chloe watched her, eying the furrow of her brows and the set angle of her jaw. She was sitting stick-straight, annoyed and maintaining sharp angles and harsh corners. 

“Stop staring,” Beca muttered quietly, her face fighting a smile, “There’s a movie on, if you didn’t know.” 

–

She lets herself become engrossed in the story. Chloe was told several times throughout her years in the Bellas house that she resembled Disney princesses - perhaps to a fault. It wasn’t surprising, then, that talking birds and singing trees and wishes coming true were enough to draw Chloe’s eyes in. She found herself smiling at certain points, frowning at others, but nonetheless determined by the second song that she’d download the soundtrack before they even make it back to the car. 

It took until the last thirty minutes of the movie, though, for her to glance over at Beca. The bright colors had shifted to light blues and dark purples, the music becoming violins and pianos and goodbyes were being said in a painfully dramatic manner. Between her own sniffles, Chloe stopped wiping away the tears at her face the moment she heard a sniffle erupt from beside her. When she looked, Beca had her hand up to her face, practically forcing the tear back into her tear duct. 

“Beca,” she said, shocked and smiling and Beca glared at her out of the corner of her eye. 

“Shut it, Beale,” she said quickly, “You’re not seeing what you think you’re seeing.” 

“Really?” She leaned closer to Beca, pushing through Beca’s shrugging her off, “Cuz I think I’m seeing you cry at a ‘stupid kid movie’.” 

“Well you’re wrong,” Beca said, though she had to sniffle again. 

“Hmmm,” Chloe muttered, her nose on Beca’s temple, “Such a shame. Sensitive Beca’s kinda the most attractive Beca, if you ask me.” 

For a fraction of a second, Beca’s sniffles stopped and she straightened up. Chloe watched her muscles tense, but the music on the screen continued to swell. Beca ducked out of Chloe’s embrace, swatting her. 

“It’s just getting good, Chlo,” she said, leaning forward, “Stop distracting me.” 


	94. The One with Broken Headphones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fic prompt: chloe accidentally breaks beca's headphones which causes them to have a huge fight and not speak to each other which has chloe freaking out. though i don't have any ideas how they make up or beca somehow comforts chloe..i dunno. but you're super great with writing bechloe so i'll know you'll rock it! — sent by anonymous

There was a knock on Chloe’s bedroom door. It was hesitant, and when there was no response but a string of curse words, Emily poked her head in cautiously. 

“Chloe?” 

She was sitting at her desk, plugging and unplugging headphones into her computer fervently. Curse words were spewing from her mouth, and each time, Emily winced. 

“Chloe?” she repeated, finally loud enough to break Chloe out of her haze. Blinking, she glanced over at Emily, seeming to notice her for the first time. 

“Hey, Em,” she said breathlessly. “What’s up?”

“N-nothing,” she said, “I just heard swearing coming from your room. Amy said with Beca out it didn’t make any sense…b-because you can’t even say ‘hell’ most days and…” 

“I’m fine,” she said coldly, staring again at the headphones. “I’m just…Trying to fix something.” 

Emily followed her line of sight to the headphones, her eyes widening. “Are those Beca’s?? Holy shit, Chloe, you’re screwed. I mean, I’m sorry. But. Like. You’re aca-screwed.” 

“Thanks, Em,” Chloe said through her teeth, her hands on her hips. Emily understood body language enough to back down. She slowly walked out of the room, her hands up. 

“Good luck,” she said weakly when she closed the door, and Chloe just sighed, pinching her nose. 

–

“HOW THE FUCK, CHLO, YOU’RE NOT EVEN ALLOWED TO – FUCKING SHIT…” 

“Whoop there it is,” Amy muttered at the floor of the steps. Cynthia Rose nodded, lips pursed, and Emily grimaced. 

“ICanHearLikeABat,” Lilly whispered, but beneath the shouts from Beca’s room, no one heard her. 

–

It takes a lot for Chloe to wear grey. “It doesn’t bring out my eyes,” she would always say to Beca when she offered her closet full of grey and black to the redhead. She dons hot pink with confidence, sky blue with beauty, and rose red with classic coolness. 

So when she walks downstairs two days later in grey sweatpants and Beca’s old theatre camp shirt from middle school, Stacie picks the collar up between her index finger and thumb, wincing. 

“Why the hell are you dressed like a Cymbalta commercial?” she said, throwing the shirt out of her hands like it was diseased. Chloe scoffed, pulling herself away from Stacie’s grasp. 

“It’s because she’s fighting with the Wife,” Cynthia Rose said from the counter, pouring her cereal. 

“We’re not married,” Chloe said quietly, slipping her hand into the box of cereal and stuffing the fruit loops in her mouth - letting several fall to the floor. 

“And you won’t be if you keep looking like that,” Stacie said simply. “Can’t you just skip to the hot make-up sex already?” 

“Yeah, Red, just, like, apologize or something,” CR added. Chloe pressed her forehead into the fridge handle. 

“You don’t get it,” she said quietly, “They were her headphones. Her  _headphones.”_

Stacie shook her head, not understanding. 

“I might as well as just torn up the only signed copy of the Grease soundtrack, guys!” her voice squeaked at the end, and Stacie shot a glance at CR before putting her hands up. 

“Whatever,” she mumbled, “You chicks are weird.” 

– 

“She’s worse than Aubrey,” Stacie said, throwing a pillow up in the air repeatedly from where she lay on Beca’s bed staring at the ceiling. 

“Shut up, she so isn’t,” Beca muttered from her desk. 

“No, but she is,” Stacie said, turning over. “Because she’s not hot when she’s mean, she’s just _sad.”_

“I’m trying to study here, Stace.”

“Yeah, and I’m trying to live a life that  _doesn’t_ end with mega frown lines popping up before the age of seventy. So, you need to fix her. Like, now.” 

“Why is this my job?” Beca put her pencil down, facing Stacie. 

“Because she’s your lady,” Stacie said. “Your girl, your problem, your solution. Besides, all you need to do is flash her the goods and it’ll be fine.” 

–

“Chlo,” Beca knocked on Chloe’s door hesitantly, peeking through the door. Chloe was staring at the wall, Evanesce pouring through the room on loud speakers. “Jesus, Chlo, early 2000s goth?” 

Chloe shrugged, turning down the music only slightly. Beca moved to sit on the bed. She had a Sharpie tucked into her bun. 

“Fine, don’t talk,” she said, “It’s not like I can drown you out now anyway, what with my headphones being broken.” 

She smiled weakly, and Chloe met it with a glare that was on fire. Beca’s smile faded immediately. She sighed, her hands shaking slightly.

“Sorry,” she coughed, “Yeah, no, not funny. Um…Hey, can I see your wrist?” 

“What?” 

“Ah! She speaks!” Beca held her hands up in victory, but Chloe met her with same glare as before. “Wrist, please. Just…trust me. Come on, Beale.” 

She beckoned with her hand, and Chloe cautiously put her arm on Beca’s knee. Beca turned it around, pushing the velvet grey of her sweat-shirt up. The skin was pale, untouched, and tinted pink around the edges. There was a freckle between her veins. Beca traced it quickly. 

“Beca,” Chloe said, warning. Beca took a breath. 

“Right,” she said quickly. She tugged the Sharpie, pulling it out and sending her hair out in waves. Chloe had to keep herself from wrapping her finger in it. “Back to business.” 

Silently, she opened the marker and pressed it into Chloe’s skin. The first dot spread in the miniscule cracks of Chloe’s skin, branching out. She pressed it deeper, drawing an arc and ending it with a small oval. It was a simple shape, but she bent her neck to get closer to the wrist, trying to make the design just right. Her tongue was sticking out. By the time she finished, her head was spinning with the fumes. 

“Ta-da,” she said weakly, gesturing to the arm. Chloe lifted it up, seeing the same headphones that were etched permanently into Beca’s wrist. “I thought you would want to practice seeing that before we, like, made anything permanent.” 

“I don’t want any more tattoos,” Chloe said simply, but she was running her finger over the headphones. 

“No,” Beca agreed, “I know. It’s more…like…metaphorical? Or…symbolic, or whatever? Um. So I got those headphones in sixth grade. They were my only Christmas present, or whatever. And, um, well they were my safety blanket. I don’t think I ever walked into school without them on me somewhere when I was in high school. It was like…you know, if you’re wearing headphones, no one talks to you. Which was…kinda perfect.” 

She paused. The entire time, she was taking off and putting on the Sharpie cap nervously. 

“Hence, the tattoo. So that even if I didn’t have them, I would feel safe from…other people. And, I guess…Like…,” she sighed, looking up, “I guess I don’t need those headphones anymore, do I? Cuz…um…yunno, I don’t need to be protected from people. Not anymore. And because…well….you make me safe.” 

She ended with a shrug, avoiding Chloe’s eyes. “I’m sorry I got so angry,” she continued, “I was scared, mostly. Because it’s like…breaking my bullet proof vest. Which is dumb. So….yeah…I realized I have you now.” 

Chloe didn’t look up from the drawing on her wrist until Beca was done talking, and when she did, her eyes were filled with tears. 

“They were expensive, I bet,” Chloe said, smiling a little. Beca chuckled, nodding. 

“Yep, they were,” she said. 

“I’m really sorry, Becs.” 

“I know,” Beca said, “Um. You just…you don’t have to be, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

 


	95. The One with the Midnight Swim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey there super human, you wouldn't happen to have any supper happy fluffy prompts sitting waiting to be written would you? Today has sucked balls hugely and I just wondered if you were planning on working on any prompts could you maybe do a happy one where like no one dies and no one gets there heart torn into a bajizzilion pieces? If not, fear not, I will survive! — sent by anonymous

“Chlo, what’re you…” 

Chloe’s biting her lip, squeezing Beca’s hand as she pulls her and walks backwards. It’s four in the morning. There is dew on the grass, and the air smells like how Beca imagined the ending scenes of every high school coming-of-age movie would smell. It’s metallic. Crisp. New and old all at the same time, with change creeping through the black-red sky. 

“Shh, Becs,” Chloe said quietly, “Just a little more.” 

She pushes through the doors of the old school pool, needing to nudge it with her shoulders. Once inside, it smells like chlorine, and the walls are guarded in linoleum and tile. To their right is a room full of trophies, walls adorned in black and white photos of boys in swim trunks with hair like waves. To their left is a staircase. Chloe giggles when Beca hesitates. 

“We’re not allowed to be in here,” she says, her voice sharp. Chloe looks up, eyes sparkling and a grin on the corner of her lips. 

“When has rules stopped you, Beca Mitchell,” she responds, turning back around. “Come on.” 

Pulling the hood of her sweatshirt down, Beca follows Chloe down the staircase, neither one of them taking the risk to turn on the lights. The smell of chlorine intensifies as they go down, and when they reach the bottom, Chloe forces open a set of double doors. 

There’s a hollowness to the pool deck - a vast emptiness that matches the sky at night - and it enhances the silence, builds it up until Chloe’s laughter breaks it apart again. 

“Do you have your phone with you?” she asks, her eyes wide. There’s a purse to her lips - this way of communicating somehow that there are words between them that aren’t being said. Beca looks at Chloe, confused. 

“N-no,” she says slowly. It’s the right response, apparently, because Chloe’s mouth breaks into an all-out smile, and she charges for Beca, ducking her head to throw her into the pool. Beca’s screams echo over the walls until it all goes silent, blacks and blues becoming brighter with every bubble that’s released. Beca sinks into the quiet for a moment - because it’s enveloping, massive, and inexplicably calm. Then, she opens her eyes. 

Chloe looks at her from under the water, eyes made more blue by the pool’s walls and the impossible power of her glimmer. Her hair fans out around her, moving in waves that match the bursts of bubbles around their mouths. Chloe smiles, sparked with bubbles, and Beca smiles back. She lifts her hand, the edges made smooth by the water, and grabs Beca’s where it meets her in the middle. 

“It’s freezing,” Beca mutters when they went up for air. They jumped in the deep-end, and they’re struggling to stay afloat. 

“It’s perfect,” Chloe says easily. “You’re perfect.” 

She says it with a smile, like she says everything, and Beca thinks that she would break every law in the world for that smile. That is, until it contorts, and Chloe’s spitting water directly into Beca’s face. She giggles when Beca groans, fleeing for the shallow end to get some sort of retribution. 

Only, when she’s got a mouth full of water and is ready to explode it on Chloe, jumping, Chloe catches her by the torso and spins her around, pushing the water out in a burst of laughter that surprises even her. After shouts of “Put me down, Beale, I swear to God” Beca finally stops long enough to hear Chloe say, “Put your arms out, Babe.” 

She does, standing up tall with Chloe’s head pressed into her abdomen. She’s got her sweatshirt on still, and she slips it up and over her head. Beneath is an old bra, one she imagines she bought in high school, tattered around the edges. She doesn’t mind much, though, enjoying the way Chloe is hot against her cold stomach. When she breathes, she can see her tummy constrict, can feel it against Chloe’s jawline. Her legs are wrapped around Chloe’s upper torso. Chloe spins her enough that she collapses on the red head, wrapping her arms around Chloe’s head and nuzzling the top of it with her nose as Chloe presses kisses into Beca’s chest. 

The room is spinning. 

“The queen of the world,” Chloe hums into Beca’s chest, and Beca scoffs. 

“Yeah, not corny at all.”

“Shh,” she says, tapping Beca lightly, “I like to play pretend.” 

“I know you do,” Beca says, pressing a kiss into Chloe’s temple. She slips down, meeting Chloe’s eyes. “You’re amazing, Chlo.” 

“I know I am,” she says simply. They let go of each other, and Chloe moves to her back. She takes a deep breath, balancing herself enough to float. Beca watches, outlining the border between the water and Chloe’s features. Her lips twist in her profile, her hair fans around her face. Her skin is glowing with the pool lights - white underneath and blue on top, and she looks like a frozen angel. Like she fell from some cloud capped in ice crystals, and she’s just come to shore for Beca to find. Beca reaches out slowly, taking Chloe’s hand and letting her legs lift from the bottom of the pool so she’s floating too. 

“It was a thing I did,” Chloe starts, her voice accompanying the permanent sound of dripping something, “In high school. We had a big competitive swim thing happening in my hometown. Whatever. When I had finals or exams or…like, when my prom date bailed last second…I found a pool and snuck in. There’s something holy about it, isn’t there?” 

Beca’s quiet for a second. She can hear their heartbeats bounce off the walls. They’re in the basement, but it feels like they’re on the moon - everything’s bathed in whites and blacks and blues. She looks over at Chloe, seeing again the fallen angel frozen in an ice block. 

“Yeah,” she says, squeezing Chloe’s hand. “Yeah, like a modern cathedral.” 

Chloe hums. When she nods, it splashes against Beca’s ears. 

“You’re untouchable here,” Chloe says, “Time stops.” 

She squeezes Beca’s hand back. 

“You’re beautiful, Chlo.” 

Chloe looks at Beca, blushing before shaking her head and looking back up at the ceiling. 

“I’m serious!” Beca says, “You are!” 

“Take a girl to an old pool at midnight and she’s  _bound_ to say that,” Chloe argues with a smile. She tilts her head up, and Beca does the same, using their intertwined hands to pull Chloe back to her. 

“Dance with me?” Beca asks, her mouth against Chloe’s forehead. Chloe’s hand skates down her sternum, tracing the freckles. 

“There’s no music,” Chloe says quietly. It’s hardly a problem, and she knows it. 

“With you?” Beca says close to Chloe’s ear, “I doubt that.” 


	96. The One With the Step-Sister (Summer AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca meeting her new stepsister (Aubrey) and her stepsisters best friend (Chloe) and havign to spend the summer with them — sent by anonymous

She’s not Aubrey’s biggest fan, which, in all honesty, is putting it nicely. Because she was  in the new house for less than three hours and Aubrey had already made her feel like she’s smaller than the dog that Aubrey’s mom - Sheila, though Beca was instructed to call her “the _new_ Mrs. Mitchell” with a laugh that made Beca wince - totes around all day. She has a way of looking at Beca that makes the story of Cinderella seem entirely too realistic, and when dinner is called that first night at the house, she considered not going at all. But one of the summer rules was that she “at least  _try_ to be involved” with the stepmonsters, so she crawled out of the room she was supposed to share with Aubrey, shouting a sharp, “I’m coming! Jesus Christ…” as she stomped down the steps. 

The table is set for five, and while Beca knew her family was bigger now than it used to be, she hadn’t lost count of how many members had been added during that God-awful wedding. When she stood uncomfortably a few feet away from the table, looking at the chairs like they were some foreign relic from a distant planet, Sheila tutted. “You can sit next to Chloe,” she said with a wave of her hand. 

“Chloe?” 

“That’s me!” The voice came from behind. When Beca spun around, she saw Aubrey in the doorway with a redheaded woman peeking around her, holding her hand out with lips pursed. The sun was setting behind them, and it made Chloe almost have a halo around her hair. “So totally awesome to meet you,” she said quickly, “I’ve heard much about you.” 

Aubrey nudged her, glaring, and Chloe closed her mouth quickly. “All good of course,” she said with eyes that lied too easily. Beca saw through it immediately, her eyebrows raising. 

“Yeah, well I’ve heard zero things about you, Red,” she said, her voice dry. Chloe looked surprised, glancing up at Aubrey once with a broken face before taking a deep breath and facing Beca again, a smile plastered on. 

“Right,” she said, “Chloe Beale. Bree’s friend.” 

“Chloe’s like a second daughter,” Sheila said from the table. When she caught herself, she laughed. “Oh! Third now, I guess.” 

Chloe smiled politely, following Aubrey into the dining room and sitting down next to where Beca put her phone. 

The dinner is so different than the McDonalds affair that Beca was used to participating in with her father. They had breaded chicken and a separate bowl for salads, stopping to say prayer before the meal began. It was strange, foreign, and punctuated by the scrapes of forks and knives over ceramic. Despite what seemed to be poor judgment in friendships, Chloe seemed to be the dinner’s only saving grace. She kept the conversation going when it dulled out, eating three servings of pasta and nudging Beca with her knee under the table every time Sheila talked with a piece of spinach stuck to her teeth. 

And Beca laughed at every one of her jokes. Not because they were funny, necessarily, but because they were familiar. Because she knew what to do when Chloe paused and waited for laughter, and she was grateful that at least she was capable of following that script where she seemed to be failing to follow every other one that existed in the house. Beca was almost sad when Chloe stood up to help clear the table, wanting to stretch out the easiness of the dinner for as long as possible. 

“Help me clean up, Beca?” she said lightly when Beca looked up at her between glasses of water. She threw Beca a wink, chuckling at the way Beca rushed to finish her gulp and stand. “Awes.” 

And that’s how it went. Summer nights became summer weeks, Chloe sleeping over every time because her parents “never notice anyway”. There were two beds in the room, and Beca slept in the one Chloe used to sleep in, so they shared some nights, even though Beca “snored like a pig with a sinus infection”. The redhead convinced Aubrey to drag Beca to every bonfire help in every college guy’s backyard, because, at the very least, she could be the designated driver. Only, she never drank on the nights Beca couldn’t, choosing instead to sit next to Beca on the roof of whatever house they visited and watch the stars, occasionally laughing at whatever idiot decided to take his shirt off and jump into the pool. 

They sat in the parking lot of the Walmart, because there was nowhere else to go during the day, and even Aubrey couldn’t handle the wrath of Sheila when she’s remodeling. It became their routine. Beca brought a book, Aubrey brought a new shade of nail polish, and Chloe brought a Cosmo, asking the other girls the quiz questions and telling the sex stories that are scattered through the magazine. Beca lips always tasted like grape Powerade, while Chloe’s, she imagines, always tasted like sour apple candies. Aubrey’s got a never-ending water bottle of sweet iced tea. 

Beca surprised to find that she doesn’t hate Aubrey as much as she thought when she walked through the house on that first day.  She thought that with Chloe around, Aubrey visibly softened, becoming someone who was willing to laugh if a joke was good enough to warrant it. She saw Aubrey stiffen at her father’s touch - the same way she imagined she did at Sheila’s laugh - and there was a nervous twitch to her eyes whenever her mother talked to her about anything beyond what they were having for dinner. Even that, it seemed, had the power to veer off course into a rant about caloric intake. So Beca understood, after enough nights of sleepover games enforced by Chloe, the facets that contributed to Aubrey’s tight posture and judgmental glare. She even thought she started to see an extra rim of eyeliner around her eyes by the end of the summer, perhaps a slight break in her perfect way of walking. 

She thought that maybe she wore less eyeliner where Aubrey wore more. She thought maybe she tried a little harder, and generally fought back a little more when Sheila was railing on Bree’s burnt nose or never-white-enough teeth. Because it made Aubrey twitch with confusion, and earned her a knee squeeze from Chloe. 

She thought that maybe this was what friendship was - forced and stiff at the very least, gradual and routine and accidental at the very best. 

“Dog days of summer,” Chloe said at the end of the last day before Beca left for her mom’s house in Portland. Her head was on Beca’s shoulder, and Beca could smell the sunscreen and sour apple candy. She leaned her cheek into Chloe’s hair, taking in the scent of her shampoo. “Almost over.” 

“Don’t remind me,” Aubrey said, fiddling with her shoelace, “We’ve still got a few more hours.”

“Didn’t picture you as much of a procrastinator,” Beca muttered, and Chloe chuckled lightly. 

“Mmm, but my father always said, ‘If you repress it, then you can best it.” 

“Sounds like a winner,” Beca said mindlessly. The two other girls hummed something akin to contentedness. 

“Family sucks,” Chloe finally said after a few moments of silence. She had interwoven her fingers with Beca’s, and she was squeezing them tightly.

“Family really fucking sucks,” Beca agreed, and Aubrey, despite her distaste for Beca’s potty mouth, nodded. 

“When my parents ask where I am,” she continues, “I tell them I’m at home. ‘Cuz it’s not a lie. I know that’s dumb, but…” 

“But, yeah,” Beca butts in, “Yeah. I get it. Mom caught me yesterday calling it home too. Which would make you nerds my family.” 

“Not exactly what we signed up for,” Aubrey muttered, and when Beca looked at her, she smiled, biting her lip and looking out at the sunset. “You’re not bad, as far as step-sisters go, Mitchell.” 

“And you might have the ugly part down, but you aren’t  _that_ evil,” Beca said with a grin. Aubrey rolled her eyes, shoving Beca as Chloe laughed. 

“Apologize for that, Becs,” Chloe said quietly, which then prompted Beca’s turn to roll her eyes. 

“Whatever, Posen, I kinda like you,” she said through a smirk, “Only because Chloe says I have to.” 

“Works for me,” Aubrey said, holding up her hands. Beca laughed, taking one of the hands and holding it before pressing it together with the one that Chloe held. 

“Thanks for saving me from back home, guys.” 

And it didn’t really matter who was saying it. They all agreed. 


	97. The One Where They're Kiddies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kinda AU prompt, with 6yr old Beca protecting Chloe from the playground bullies and getting a new best friend for life — sent by anonymous

She wore her hair in a french braid every day, tied by a bright red scrunchie. Stretching down to the hem of her shirt, it was her biggest treasure, her largest source of pride. When she talked, she had a lisp. There is a hole in her smile where her two front teeth used to be. While she cleaned up after nap-time, she sang. 

And Beca thought she was the most beautiful girl she had ever seen. She assumed that Chloe B. was one of her dolls, come to life. Because she would come to school in yellow sundresses and shiny black shoes, popping into gym class with oversized t-shirts that smelled like her older brothers. Because she had eyes bluer than the marbles Beca used to play with during snacktime. Because her cheeks were pink, like she stole her mom’s blush. 

Beca was quiet, though. Her dad taught her to read during preschool, so she stuck to the edges of the classroom with a book in her hand while the rest of the class studied vowels. She filled her head with superheroes, because they could talk, and they could fight, and they could walk without skinning their knees.  During recess, she stayed underneath the slide, in a small cubby-hole she found. She would scrunch down with her mom’s windbreaker stretched over her head, mouthing the words to the book she read. 

So she heard them when they gathered in the plastic general store, hearing their breaths heaving from a game of freeze tag. She’d learned how to identify their breaths in the beginning of the year, matching the weight of their footsteps to their faces. Carlton C. was there, with Billy S. and Sydney K. And then there was Chloe B., footsteps light and breath laughing. 

“You’re out, anyway,” Billy whined, strengthened by the agreements of his peers. 

“No, I’m not,” Chloe said, her voice high. 

“It doesn’t matter, we don’t want to play with you,” Sydney argued. “You sing when you walk, and your breath smells weird.” 

“What? No it doesn’t,” Chloe said. 

“Yeah, it smells like eggs,” Carlton chimed in, shoving her once. He was laughing, but Beca couldn’t figure out what was funny. “Chloe Slow-y Smells like Toes-y.” 

“You guys are crazy, that’s not even true,” Chloe argued, her arms crossed, but Beca could hear a crackle start in her voice. She put her book down, peeking out around the slide. Chloe was wearing Beca’s favorite: an off-white dress, with daisies printed over it. Her gold bracelet hung from her wrist, and there was a scratch of playground dirt on her lace socks. She had tears in her eyes. 

“It is too,” Sydney said, sticking her tongue out. “You can’t even prove it wrong so…” 

Chloe opened her mouth to argue, but no words came out. The other kids laughed at her silence, and Beca took a breath. She felt like she was getting taller. Stronger. Somehow. Like all the broccoli her mom made her eat was working all at once. 

“I can,” she said, her voice sticky and sweaty and nervous. 

“Who’re you?” said one of the kids. Beca couldn’t tell which, because aside from the blue eyes staring at her confusedly, her vision was getting hazy. 

“No one,” she said quietly, stepping back. When the kids turned back to Chloe without another glance her courage returned. She coughed. “That’s not true. I’m not no one. I’m Beca Mitchell.” 

“Okayyyyy,” Sydney said, wrapping time around her finger to hurry Beca up. Beca bit her lip, glancing at Chloe worriedly and puffing her chest out. 

“Um. You’re wrong. About Chloe B. Because I sleep next to her during naptime and I think she smells great.” 

“So?” Billy said. Beca had stepped forward, her hands in fists. “No one even knows who you are, ‘Becky’.” 

“That’s because I don’t want you to,” Beca said quickly, “Because you’re gross. And you smell like peas. All of you do.” 

Chloe laughed, and Beca thought it was one of the best sounds she’d heard. She wasn’t expecting that. The power of Chloe B.’s laugh when it was in response to one of her words. 

“And Chloe is really good at singing. Like  _super_ good,” she paused, looking at Chloe, “Princess good.” 

“Princess good?” Chloe spoke for the first time then, her eyes wide from shock more than tears. Her cheeks had gotten redder as Beca spoke more, and her voice was breathy. Light. 

Beca nodded determinedly, with one-two-three shakes of her head. Her hands were still in fists. “Princess good,” she confirmed. She turned from Chloe, using the power that Chloe’s smile gave her to continue. “And I take karate, so f’any of you nerds say I’m wrong, I’ll punch you.” 

“Punching isn’t even  _taught_  in karate,” Sydney argued, and Beca lifted her hand up in Sydney’s face. She flinched, as did the whole group, but as soon as they backed away from her, she smiled and put up her middle finger. The whole group gasped. 

“Dat’s what I thought,” she said, confidently. She lowered her hands down to her hips, turning back to Chloe. “All I got s’m’book. But I think Mrs. M. has chalk. Wanna draw?”

Chloe bit her lip, nodding. Her eyes were gleaming. She held her hand out to Beca, who took it hesitantly. The other kids huffed and ran off to the sound of Chloe’s giggle. She held her other hand up to Beca’s ear, leaning in. 

“Thanths for saving me,” she said quietly, “Like a superhero or somefing.” 

“Yeah,” Beca said, smiling, “Superhero and princess.” 

Chloe went to high-five, and Beca caught it. “Awes.” 


	98. The One With the Argument

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love your writing so much, and it makes my daaaay. Prompt: Beca and Chole are in an argument (pre-relationship) and in the heat of the moment one of them let's a "because I'm in love with you" slip out. You take it how you want it. I trust you. — sent by anonymous

“It makes no sense!” They’re standing in the kitchen, separated by a counter-top, and in the hallway, they can see at least three faces peaking through. 

“Aca-rents are fighting again,” Amy sighed when Cynthia Rose popping her head in to see what the shouting was about. 

“Why don’t they just kiss and make up already,” Stacie muttered. 

“I don’t understand what doesn’t make sense to you, Beca,” Chloe had her hand on the barstool, as if using it to brace herself. There was fire in her eyes, but it was hazy, as if misdirected. They both seemed tired, their voices raspy, like they weren’t completely involved in the fight at hand. Beca, who, the girls noted, hadn’t even had her morning cup of coffee, had dark circles under her eyes. Chloe had last night’s makeup smeared under her lids. 

“You!” Beca spat, gesturing at Chloe, “You and all your…God…you’re so goddamn happy all the time, Chloe! How the fuck…it’s not natural!” 

“You’re angry at me because I’m too happy?” 

The mug Beca was holding was slammed against the table. “Yeah, Chlo, I guess I am,” she said shortly, rubbing at her eyes. 

“That’s the stupidest bullsh–”

“Chlo!” Beca spun around to face Chloe again, “People treat you like shit! That boy, he just… The judges at nationals…your professors….everyone walks all over you because they know they can! Because all you’re gonna do is smile your way through whatever terrible thing they have to say to make themselves feel better.” 

“If this is because you’re jealous of Nick, well then, I–”

“Oh, so you know his name?” Beca said, laughing coldly, “Well thank God for that. Because it seemed like all he knew you by was Short Legs.” 

“He called me that  _once_.” 

“Yeah! One time too many!” Beca was moving forward, crossing the kitchen to be near Chloe. “When the fuck are you gonna learn that you’re better than that. Than all of them. And that a fucking smile isn’t going to make it all not hurt you? Fight the fuck back, dude! Or at least let someone else do it for you. Jesus.” 

“You can’t pretend like you calling my dad an asshole on the phone last week was any kind of knight in shining armor shit, Becs,” Chloe said, and Beca reeled, shaking in overdramatized shock. 

“You’re still on that?!” 

“What, you think this is all about Nick? Of course I’m still on that! He’s my  _father,_ Beca…”

“Right,” Beca said, slamming her hand on the counter, “And he was calling you terrible things. Chloe, no! Just–” she held her hands up, pushing away, “Just stop, God. It’s like…You don’t even know.” 

“Know what?” Chloe arms were crossed now, tears burning in her eyes. 

“How radiant you are!! Chloe, you could light up an entire stadium with just your fucking goddamn laugh! You let people treat you like you’re a grey when you’re really a yellow. I don’t know if it’s ‘cuz you don’t believe it yourself, or what, but let me tell you, Chlo, you’re bright. You’re…God, just so much better than these people who put you down. Bigger. And…it’s just not right to let them do that. It’s just not fucking right.” 

Beca would deny, in that moment, that she started crying too. But there was a brokenness to her voice and a certain tear that spilled from her eyes that implied otherwise. 

“Why do you think you have any say in this, Beca,” Chloe asked, her voice softer and cracking.  “Why do you think you have any right to impart this shit wisdom on me? To be involved at all, if I’m so weak? So submissive. Hmm?” 

Beca rolled her eyes, frustrated. “Because I fucking love you! I’m  _in_ love with you, for Christ’s sake…” she turned around, pressing her hands to either side of her head and sighing in irritation. When she saw the faces of the Bellas in the hallway, each with their jaw dropped, she realized she needed to rewind what she said and listen back. When she did, her eyes widened, and she took a step back, wincing when she saw Chloe. 

“What?” Chloe said quietly, moving forward. Beca had her back hunched in embarrassment, her eyes squinting. 

“Don’t,” she said, “I, um, I haven’t had my coffee. I don’t know what the fuck I’m saying. So don’t…give me that look. Like I need your pity, I’m just…I’m just really tired.” 

“Becs,” Chloe said, and it was sharper. Demanding. Beca stood up straighter at the sound, gulping. “What did you say?” 

The smaller woman sighed, looking up and pinching her nose. “I said I’m in love with you. Who wouldn’t be? That’s my whole point.” 

Chloe had a hand on Beca’s arm, pulling it off her face so that their eyes could meet. She was smiling, though her tears kept falling. “I’m as dumb as people say sometimes,” she said, weakly, “So…they aren’t terribly wrong. Because here after all this time with you, I was entirely convinced you weren’t in love with me too.” 

Beca looked up at her, shocked, swallowing and trying to dart her eyes away but realizing they had nowhere to go. “Too?” she said finally, letting it squeak on the last ‘o’. She shook her head, backing up, “I mean, well, first, no, you’re not as dumb as people say, I mean…I kinda think you’re missing the whole point of this argument if you think that you’re as du–”

Her rambling was cut off by Chloe’s lips, which quickly pushed an applause out of the audience they’d gathered in the hallway and living room. When they finally broke apart, Chloe chuckled a little. “I’ve been wanting to end your stress-rambles like that since the first time you did it in front of me,” she said. 

Beca laughed then, pressing a finger into Chloe’s collarbone and looking up sternly at her. “This conversation’s not over,” she said. Chloe shook her head. 

“No, of course not,” she reached for the mug of coffee, “But you must of your cup of Joe first, obviously.” 


	99. The One With Bed-Sharing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt? Beca needs to stay in Chole's bed for whatever dumb reason (probs Amy) and when they wake up they're all nuzzled up against each other and they're just two fools in love realizing how the other feels?? I have 99 problems and Bechole is all of them. — sent by anonymous

“Chlo?” 

The sound broke through the darkness enough to startle Chloe awake, making her jump when she saw a shadow standing over her. She let out a startled gasp, which Beca responded to by apologizing profusely. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she said quickly, “I didn’t want to scare you.”

“Fat load of good that did,” Chloe grumbled, holding her chest and catching her breath. “What’s up?” 

“Amy reserved the room,” Beca said, scratching her head, “Well, err, there wasn’t really a reservation made…more like…umm….yeah, she sexiled me. Hardcore sexiled.” 

Chloe laughed, and Beca lightly slapped her arm. “You wouldn’t be laughing if you saw it. She seemed to have momentarily forgotten that she had a roommate at all, because  _zero ˆ_ warning was given when they barged in.” 

“Yikes,” Chloe said, covering up her yawn. She moved over in the bed, tapping the space there. “Say no more, my dear. Though if you wanted to get in my bed you didn’t have to come up with some elaborate excuse.” 

“Chloe Beale, I swear to God,” Beca said in response to Chloe’s wink. She pulled the covers back, slipping into Chloe’s bed easily. 

“Your toes are freezing,” Chloe said after a few moments of silence. 

“Your body is a fucking heating blanket,” Beca responded. Chloe chuckled lightly, shifting in the bed until Beca could feel her eyes on the back of her neck. When arms slid around Beca’s waist, her eyes shot open. 

“I do  _not_ spoon, Chlo.” 

“And I do not let ladies into my bed willy nilly,” Chloe sighed into Beca’s neck, “I’m a cuddler, and you’re a guest in these sheets, so…beggars can’t be choosers.” 

Beca groaned, pressing her nose into the pillow. It smelled like Chloe, citrus and vanilla and that inherent scent that was so Beale it couldn’t be described as anything else. She was wearing a loose t-shirt and one of Chloe’s old boxer shorts, and she wasn’t lying when she said that Chloe was warm. Dressed in a tank top and spandex, her bare skin was burning Beca’s. It was a complaint she’d had before - during movie nights or car-rides. Chloe ran at 100 degrees Fahrenheit, she was certain, and now, at the end of summer, was not the best time to be cuddled up against her. 

Only, there was something comfortable about it all. With the moon painting everything blue against the rust-orange shades of the streetlamp outside, it all felt private. Cozy in the way an afternoon nap would feel. Beca sighed, turning without thinking so that she was face to face with Chloe. Instead of opening her eyes, she pressed her head into Chloe’s chest, putting a hand on her stomach. “Beca Mitchell…could…could it be? Are you a cuddler too?” 

“It’s nearly three a.m., and I’m gonna need you to stop talking,” Beca muttered, though there was a smile pressing up on her face. Chloe hummed, squeezing Beca closer before drawing light circles on her back. 

Chloe was a steady sleeper. Long nights of exactly eight hours, every night of the week, every week of the year. She was reliable that way - understood what she needed and maintained it easily. Beca, on the other hand, harbored sleep like a starving thief. Chloe knew, throughout sleepovers and summers spent boarded up in each other’s houses, that Beca struggled to fall asleep. When she did, it could last days. The universal law was that no one wake a sleeping Beca. Not many people knew it was because of how hard Beca fought to get to that place of dreams and deep breathing. So when Beca’s brain started to slow down, she almost felt like she needed to fight it. Like, for some reason, she wasn’t entitled to that easy of a drift into sleep. 

“You asleep?” Chloe whispered, and Beca drew a line up her torso. 

“Almost,” Beca answered. It was muffled, and it was true, and Chloe bit her lip to keep her smile in. 

“Really?” 

“Not if you keep talking,” Beca muttered, and Chloe laughed. “Chloe?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You make me feel safe,” Beca said. She wasn’t sure where it came from, or why she didn’t feel the need to squelch it down, but maybe it was because she felt warm and comfortable for the first time in ages, and her mind wasn’t moving half as quick as it normally did. Either way, she was glad she said it - didn’t feel the normal regret she’d become accustomed to after sharing something personal - because it felt right. Honest. True. In Chloe’s arms, she felt like she fit just enough to stay there for the rest of her life. 

Which was, admittedly, a weird thing to think about your best friend. 

Or, for Beca, who couldn’t sit still for more than a few minutes, it was a weird thing to think at all. 

Chloe shifted, fitting her chin on Beca’s head and stopping her circles. “You make me feel strong,” Chloe said, and Beca smiled. They sighed almost in tandem, and Beca fell asleep, noting for the first time that Chloe hummed when she tried to ease herself into REM. 


	100. The One With the Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bechloe prompt: beca's been in some kind of accident and she's been in a coma for a while, when she wakes up chloe's there but beca doesn't remember her (or she does but only from when they were friends) Your fics are amazing by the way! ❤ — sent by anonymous

It had been a long winter. Impossibly long, even if it only stretched the course of two weeks, breaking out with a chilled sun after fourteen days. Chloe’s lips were chapped, turtleneck sweaters pulled at the hem so they covered her hands, which shook with near-blueness. She wasn’t sure when she started to see her breath in puffs of smoke even when she was inside, but she assumed it was after the third or fourth day. 

She sang, mostly, to pass the time between visitors. Because the doctors said that Beca could hear her, maybe, and so it’s worth it even though her voice was cracking on every high note. 

What got her, though, was the beeping. Constant beeping, measuring a steady heartrate, and she thought that it’s good, of course. That should the beeping stop, they’d all be in deeper trouble than they are now. Only, it didn’t  _feel_ good, didn’t  _seem_ good, and she hated that she could identify the beat as the one that matched hers in bed, cuddled against the pillows and blankets and worlds around them. So she squeezed Beca’s hand, it was colder than hers and she thought she should start wearing mittens. 

“Becs,” she said, “Becs, that beeping…I can’t…It’s driving me fucking crazy. Only you could make this beat sound good.” 

“I’ve never heard you swear before,” was Beca’s response, sending Chloe standing, squealing, crying as she moved to Beca’s shoulders and held her there. Beca moved her arms slowly, reaching up to Chloe and patting her lightly on the shoulder. The touch was enough to wake Chloe up slightly, and she moved back, shaking. Reaching over the bed, she got the pitcher of water that was there and poured a cup. 

“You’re shaking,” Beca said through a scratchy throat when Chloe tried to put the cup to her lips. Chloe sighed. Once. Twice. She willed her hand to still, tilting the cup so Beca could drink. 

“I’m so glad you’re awake, Becs, I don’t know….,” Chloe shook her head, her mouth open without words coming out. “I just…I thought you were gone and I was alone and I couldn’t handle it. I can’t handle it. And, god…” she paused long enough to slap Beca lightly on the shoulder, “Don’t you ever fucking scare me again.” 

Beca smiled weakly, her eyes regaining a touch of their sparkle. “Two fucks in five minutes,” she said quietly, “I should do this more often.” 

Chloe hit her again, and she laughed. The sound was crackling, like bursts of fire, and Chloe felt like she was just beginning to thaw. “There are so many more ways to get me to swear, Beca Mitchell,” she said, pressing a kiss to Beca’s knuckles. Beca’s eyes widened at that, and Chloe nearly laughed at the way she was blushing. She spent two weeks listening to the non-stop beep of Beca’s heart, and when it started beating faster, she recognized it. Her eyes flitted over the monitor, watching it spike. She chuckled. 

“Okay, so we know that didn’t go away,” she said easily, taking a breath. Beca’s eyes jumped from the monitor to Chloe as she slipped her hand out of Chloe’s. 

“What?”

“Still head over heels for me, I see,” Chloe said, trying to swallow the panic that swelled in her gut as a result of the fear that was in Beca’s eyes. Beca sat up straighter, her eyes widening even more, and Chloe noticed how thin her cheeks had become, creating shadows under her eyes. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Beca said quickly, her monitor moving steadily faster. 

“Us,” Chloe said, her voice harsh with the worry that was settling low in her gut, “Us, Becs.” 

“Chloe this really isn’t the time for practical jokes.” 

“Beca,” Chloe stepped forward, but Beca blanched at the closing distance. She held her hand back from where she’d reached to calm Beca down. “Beca, I don’t….um….we’re…”

“Friends,” Beca said quickly. She had a nervous energy to her, that squirrel bounce to her head that she got when she was freaked out, “Chloe, we’re friends.” 

“Yeah,” Chloe said slowly. She chose to wrap her fingers around the railing of the bed instead of Beca’s hand like she’d wanted to. “Friends and…more than friends.” 

Beca’s stare was blank, scared, and Chloe couldn’t hold it back any longer. She reached out for Beca, grabbing her arm and holding it tight to her chest. “You…you don’t remember that? You don’t remember that night you told me you loved me? The competition?” 

Beca was shaking her head, furrowing her eyebrows. It only made Chloe clutch her tighter. 

“Beca, what about the lightning bugs? We…we went outside and they were everywhere and you…God, Becs, what about the song…? The night you thought I was leaving for New York…the song?” 

“Chloe,” Beca said, and it was so apologetic, cracking at the seams, “I’m so sorry, I–” 

Chloe took a breath, realizing only then that she’d been crying. She swallow whatever sob was threatening to break out, clutching Beca’s arm for one more breath before standing straighter, smoothing out the wrinkles in her shirt. “It’s okay,” she said, her lips pursed to fight her crying, “It’s okay, Beca. Um,” she sniffled. It took everything in her power not to look at Beca. “I’m going to go get the doctor.” 

 


	101. The One With the Rollerskating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minific prompt: Bechloe rollerskating (maybe with the rest of the Bellas, maybe not) — sent by anonymous

“No, Chlo, no I don’t–” Chloe pulled at Beca’s hands, throwing her lip out in a puppy dog pout. 

“Oh come onnnnn,” Chloe whined, “Don’t be such a party pooper.” 

“I’m not a party pooper!” Beca said indignantly, “I’m just…no…this isn’t my…cup of tea.” She glanced out at the rink, darkened with rainbow spotlights shining over it. The Bellas were scattered across the rink, broken off into various pairs. Stacie was flying around the rink confidently, occasionally pulling CR by the hands, while Amy was moving with two hands on the walls of the rink, picking up her feet counterintuitively. “What is Love” was playing over the loudspeakers. Beca was wincing from the second they walked in. 

Chloe pursed her lips, squeezing Beca’s hands. “Aw, you’re cute,” she said, and even in the darkened room, Beca could see her eyes sparkle. She huffed in response, causing Chloe to giggle. “It’s totes cool that you don’t know how to roller skate, Becs.” 

“That’s not why I–” Beca pulled her hands away, running them through her hair, “That’s  _so_ not what’s happening here.” 

“Mhmm,” Choe said knowingly, “Whatever you say.” 

After a moment of Chloe staring at Beca, she lifted her hands, frustrated. “What! Stop looking at me and go roll away, weirdo!” 

Chloe rolled her eyes, but remained at the wall. “Not a chance I go back into the rink without you next to me. Sorry, those are the rules.” 

“You’re insufferable,” Beca groaned, and Chloe smiled victoriously. It wasn’t a surrender, but Chloe read Beca enough to know that she was weakening. In a matter of seconds, Beca threw out a dramatic sigh and stood up, wobbling enough on the rollerskates to fly towards the wall for support. Chloe stifled a giggle that Beca responded to with an immediate glare. She held her hands up innocently. 

“Sorry,” she said, “No more laughing, I promise.” 

Beca only grunted, waddling over to the door to let herself into the rink. “Wipe that goddamn grin off your face, Beale,” she muttered, and Chloe sputtered indignantly. 

“I can’t help it, you’re so freakin’ cute,” she said, “You’re like a punk rock Bambi.” 

“I hate you,” Beca said, grabbing her hands instinctually when she stepped into the rink and nearly fell on her face. She was clutching Chloe’s fingers tightly, and even the redhead struggled to keep her balance. Standing them both up straight, she squeezed Beca’s hand. 

“It’s gonna be alright, I gotchu,” she said quietly, and the song changed from Haddaway to “Love Shack”. Beca replaced her typical sarcastic comment with a shaky breath. 

“You can’t let go,” Beca said, and Chloe spun around so she was facing the smaller woman. 

“Never,” she said, her nose nearly touching Beca’s, and the other woman smiled uneasily. “Never ever.” 


	102. The One With the High School AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Aca-awesome to know! Ok AU Prompt of badass Chloe and preppy smart (maybe even a cheerleader?) Beca. They've known of each other but never crossed paths before. Until one day, a guy was harassing Beca and Chloe steps in and decks him in the face. And then from then on, Chloe is like Beca's guardian angel...who will punch anyone in the face who messes with Beca. (Kinda like that insta pic of Brittany and Anna during their Back To School party). And again, your writings--- looooove!! :) — sent by 1dream-ech0

She’s seen her before. Red hair hidden under hoods and smoking on the bike-rack outside of school, she had a way of slipping into the background of Beca’s everyday. Like when you lose something even though you feel like you’ve seen it in the same spot a hundred times before losing it. She was red and black and hints of grey, and it was just enough for Beca to know that, in some capacity, she’d seen her everyday. 

But now, with blood on her knuckles, she is red and black in an entirely new way, and Beca thinks that she’s never  _really_ seen her before at all. 

“You need ice,” she said, her fingers running over the wound lightly and pulling back when Chloe struggled to swallow her wince. “I’ve got a first-aid kit in my locker, we can bandage it up.” 

“Who the fuck has a first-aid kit in her locker?” Chloe hisses, pulling her hand away, but Beca’s grip is stronger than Chloe would’ve thought. 

“I do,” Beca says like it’s the simplest thing in the world. She squeezes at Chloe’s hand lightly, throwing out an easy smile and shrugging her shoulders. 

“Oh my god,” Chloe mutters, looking at the fluorescent lights lines the hall. “Kill me now.” 

Beca tilts her head, tsking. “You know, that would defeat the whole knight and shining armor thing you have going on.” 

“I’ve got a thing for damsels in distress,” Chloe says sarcastically. She turns her attention to her hand, because Beca’s eyes are sparkling and have been since the second her knuckles hit the side of that asshole’s jaw, and it’s a little too much to take in. When she opens and closes her hand, she outwardly grimaces, and on the next open, Beca’s hand is there again. 

“Well, tough, ‘cuz by the looks of it, the tables have turned. And I might be a princess but that doesn’t mean I can’t save the day too,” Beca says brightly, her smile peeking out again. Chloe groans at the ridiculousness of the sentiment, but Beca is pulling her towards her locker without any respect for Chloe’s clear wish to be left alone. “Besides, you kinda saved me back there, so I owe you a fuck-ton.” 

Chloe’s eyes open wider, a surprised smirk playing at her lips. “Excuse me, miss princess, but did I just hear what I think I heard?” 

“What?” Beca says mindlessly. She’s standing on her tiptoes to look in the back of her locker, pulling out the first-aid kit victoriously. When she sees Chloe’s shocked face, she grins, and Chloe swears she sees an ounce of mischief in it. “You think because I wave pom-poms around every Saturday night I can’t have the mouth of a truck-driver?” 

“No, I–” 

“Cuz lemme tell you, if that’s a surprise to you, then you’ve got a hell of a lot of surprises coming your way,” she finishes with a wink. She’s not sure why - can’t quite put her finger on it - but she feels like she garners some kind of energy at the way Chloe blushes. She feels like she’s been garnering energy ever since they started talking, or maybe before, when Chloe looked guiltily down at her when she punched the kid trying to hit on her. 

She feels like she’s garnering energy, and thinks maybe she should focus that energy into decking herself just as hard as Chloe did to the boy. Because she can’t get over how stupid she was for never noticing the girl who stood shell-shocked and blushing before her. Straight-As and a scholarship to Princeton, and she never noticed that between the reds and blacks there was a stunning blue. Shining, really. 

“Here’s to every day you surprise me, then,” Chloe says, finally gaining her composure enough to dryly hold her hand up in a cheer. Beca laughs, and it’s easier than even she’d heard before. 

And if Beca’s surprised by the sound of her own laugh, than Chloe’s all but giddy. She coughs it down, choosing instead to point her good hand at the photos on the inside of Beca’s locker while the other girl dabs lightly at her knuckles. Well, not exactly photos. Sheet music, she notices when she has enough time through the stinging pain to notice. 

“You sing?” Chloe says, and Beca’s smile grows again. “I thought you just did, like, Ice Princess shit. Calculus and physics and all that jazz.” 

“Two surprises in less than ten minutes,” Beca says lightly, digging through her kit, “I don’t normally show a lady all these sides, but I guess since you came to my rescue, you deserve a bit of compensation.” 

“Brainiac princess is a swearing music nerd,” Chloe says under her breath, looking further in the locker to see that it’s practically wrapped in a cover of treble clefs and whole notes. She winces openly when she feels a sudden burn on her knuckles. 

“Forgot to warn you,” Beca chirps in pseudo-innocence, holding up a bottle of Neosporin, “But I guess that’s what happens when you call me a nerd.” 

“Because ‘brainiac princess’ is so much better?” 

Beca stops her first aid to think for a second. The glasses perched on the end of her nose get pushed up in the process. Chloe’s seen the move a thousand times - watching her do it at the front entrance to the school while she worked on whatever the fuck she spent so much time with her calculator for or while she planned cheer routines from the bleachers. She saw a lot during her smoke breaks - used them mostly as chances to get to know the entire school before they could get to know her - but Beca’s idiosyncrasies stuck more than the others did. Stuck enough to alter Chloe’s smoke schedule, so that she could be where Beca was at whenever they had free time. 

Though Beca didn’t exactly know that. And wasn’t going to know that, if Chloe has any say in the matter. If she was asked, she’ll just say she was passing the corner and noticed the shit-hole not taking no for an answer. Obviously. 

“Brainiac princess has a nice ring to it,” she finally says, finally the wrapping on Chloe’s knuckles. “It’s better than ‘Never Gives a Shit Rebel’.”

“My, my, do you give all your suitors compliments like that?” Chloe answers sarcastically, and Beca holds onto her hand for one extra second, sending a quick, humored glare Chloe’s way. 

“Yes,” she says easily, leaning down to Chloe’s knuckles and pressing a kiss to the bandage, “But I don’t always kiss it and make it better. That’s something only my best knights get.” 

Chloe rolls her eyes, taking her hand back, but it’s tingling and she thinks that it’s not because of pain. There’s a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth, and she watches Beca watch it, giving into the stare so she’s smiling fully. 

“And rewarded with a smile, how sweet,” Beca says, touching the corner of Chloe’s lip. It’s strange, and it’s inherently trespassing their bubbles of personal space - a thing Beca knows is more than extremely unusual for her - but it felt right, and necessary, and instinctual, and she wants to keep her hand there, but knows she can’t, despite the way Chloe’s grin is widening no matter how hard she tries to keep it down. 

“I’m heading out,” Chloe says quickly to soften the blush on her cheeks. She’s taken a step back and wonders when exactly that happened. Beca looks only a little surprised, pulling out her calculator before even thinking about touching her phone. 

“Okay,” she says, “Thanks again for saving me.” 

Chloe tries to roll her eyes. “Just don’t make this Clark Kent shit an every day thing.” 

Beca nods, and Chloe turns to leave, but there’s a hand on her shoulder. 

“Sorry,” she says when Chloe turns around, “I just…um…smoking is…it’s bad for you. So..just…you totally know that, but…try to cut back.” 

It’s endearing. Painfully endearing, and Chloe’s uncertain whether she can control her reaction or not so she has to actually count to ten to protect herself. Beca watches, biting her lip and hoping she hasn’t gone too far. 

“Smoking? Bad for you? This is new news to me,” Chloe says with sarcasm. There’s a nervousness to Beca that almost breaks into sadness when she says this, so she wraps her fingers around her backpack strings and adds, “I’ll keep that in mind as long as you promise to stop talking to douches.” 

“I can’t help that I’m irresistable,” Beca says quickly, wiping away any hint of sadness and replacing it with a smirk and that sparkle of mischief that was entirely too addicting. Chloe decides to roll her eyes to push it away. 

“Whatever you say, but be careful.” She walks away as she talks, shouting over her shoulder. Beca smiles, closing her eyes for a fraction of a section and running her teeth over her bottom lip. 

“Noted,” she shouts as Chloe leaves, and the redhead can’t help it, she chuckles. 

If anyone asks, she was just crossing the corner at the right time. 

If anyone asks, her smoke breaks are unplanned. 

If anyone asks, yes, they  _are_ real cigarettes, because she “doesn’t give a shit” and all that. 

Only, she has all of Beca’s idiosyncrasies memorized, and went white-hot with anger the second the boy acted even remotely out of line. 

It felt so good to talk to her, that Chloe thinks she doesn’t need any reason not to try to talk to her everyday for as many days as she has on the planet. So she takes her corny advice, because it’s sweet and right and felt genuine. She threw out the pack of cigarettes as soon as she turned the corner. 

Beca slams her head against the locker. For never noticing. 

Chloe pressing her thumb into her sore knuckles. For noticing too many times. 

But they both smile like the girls do at the end of a perfect movie date, pressed up against the door. 

 

\--

 

After the first time, she started noticing. 

Or, rather, started obsessing. Because the amount of times Beca scanned the halls for Chloe over the past few days was almost unbearable, with Stacie constantly by her side, asking who the hell she was on the run from every second of every free period. 

Even in the bathrooms, she checked under the stalls for the combat boots that promised a certain Chloe Beale, and after that altercation, she ran straight to her yearbook from last year to find more information. Granted, she  _was_ the head editor of the yearbook last year, but she genuinely didn’t understand how a picture like the one Chloe put - lurking, but somehow also beaming - on the fourth page of their class completely jumped from her memory. 

It put her on edge, really, because she never did well feeling like she was waiting for anyone, and the walk to class was always spent feeling like she should stall longer at her locker just in case Chloe came up and talked to her. So when Chloe actually  _did_ approach, she jumped nearly two feet in the air (hyperbole  _was_ her strong suit as of late), clutching her chest and cursing profusely. 

“Whoa, Brainiac Princess,” Chloe quipped, holding her hands up, “Take it down a notch.”

“You can’t do that to people!” 

“What, walk up to them in a public space and say hi?” 

Beca scowled at the other girl, holding her books closer to her chest and walking in the direction of her class. She felt Chloe’s presence beside her, not allowing herself to not take note of the way the other girl smelled. 

“Shut up,” Beca grumbled. Chloe laughed at the way she seemed like a disgruntled cat, shaking off her fur to try to gain some equilibrium in their conversation. The laugh, though, only made Beca gristle more. 

She felt warm. Embarrassed, but not angry. Which was a rarity. 

“What’re you doing Friday?” Chloe asked, so out of nowhere that Beca stopped in the middle of the hallway, causing a domino effect of three football players running straight into her back. “Watch where you’re going, yeah?” Chloe shot at them, but Beca’s hands were on her forearms, encouraging her to calm down. Chloe took a deep breath, centering her focus on Beca and trying again. “So?” 

“Um,” Beca started, scratching her forehead. She was going to be late for class. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Chloe said quickly, backing away. Beca’s hands shot out again, grabbing her. 

“Sorry, no,” Beca said, “No no no. Um. I’m just….class.”

Chloe followed Beca’s pointer finger to the class she was about to head into, and smiled. “There’s an easy fix for that,” she said, her grin widening. Beca couldn’t resist matching the smile with a smirk of her own, letting it grow until her eyebrows were raised too. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” she said, shaking her head. “Skip? There’s not a chance.” 

“Hmmm,” Chloe hummed knowingly, turning away slightly and shrugging, as if she expected as much. Beca rolled her eyes. She knew exactly what the other girl was doing, but there was a certain twist of the redhead’s lips that Beca couldn’t separate herself from. With one more glance back at the class door, she grabbed Chloe’s arm for the third time that morning. 

“Fine,” she said, sighing. “Fine.” 

Chloe squealed, jumping up and down before Beca gave her a look, raising her eyebrows until Chloe stopped, zipping her lips. 

“Does this count as a date, then?” Chloe asked as they started walking down the hall. Beca followed her, realizing that the redhead knew exactly where she was heading, and she tried her best not to make note of how different the hallways were when they were void of people. How  _wrong_ it seemed. 

She brushed that out of her mind, though, because she was here. Now. With Chloe, who was slipping her hand in hers, squeezing it excitedly. Beca looked up at the ceiling of the hallway, grinning and trying to avoid Chloe’s question. The redhead dug her head into Beca’s shoulder, trying to force an answer. Chuckling, Beca sighed. 

“It is what you want it to be,” she said, to which Chloe groaned, unconvinced. “Fine,” she said, sedating the other girl. “It is, undoubtedly, a thing we shouldn’t be doing.” 

“Okay,” Chloe said, her walk turning into a skip. It seemed strange, seeing this girl acting with such light and whimsy, but Chloe made it natural. She made it real. Beca thought of all the time she pretended to maintain that kind of bounce to her step, and if Chloe fought to maintain the kind of stillness she normally weighted her walk with. “This is acceptable,” she said, pulling Beca closer. “This is an acceptable response.” 


	103. The One Where They Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would you write a story about the time Beca took Chloe camping to make up for that other time when she didn't catch on to what "experimenting" (read: please let me love you) meant? — sent by anonymous

“You hated camping,” Chloe said as she watched Beca struggle to set up the tent. Beca grunted in response, glaring at the help that Chloe didn’t seem to be offering from a few feet away. 

“Maybe that’s because I had to do everything myself,” she said under her breath, and Chloe laughed, uncrossing her arms and moving to take one of the metal stakes from her. 

“I mean, I offered a hand,” Chloe said, her voice in Beca’s ear, “But someone didn’t seem to want it.” 

Beca’s shiver became a shake of the head as she pulled away, trying her best to let a confident smirk play on her lips. “Maybe that’s why we’re here. To take you up on offers previously unutilized.” 

Chloe raised an eyebrow, biting her lip. “Who said the offer’s still on the table in the first place, Beca,” she said easily, somehow managing to close the distance between her and the other girl without Beca being aware of it, “You didn’t take a girl out to the woods alone simply because you were presumptuous, did you?” 

As she spoke, she ran a finger down Beca’s jawline, pulling away at the last second and causing Beca to take a breath, shaking her head. “I hate you,” she pronounced confidently, moving to put the stake in the ground, “I hate you so much.” 

Chloe hummed contentedly, skipping to where the other stakes needed attention. “It’ll be an interesting trip, then, won’t it?” 

–

“I just don’t see the point of it,” Beca said, watching the way the fire flickered and cracked. “Like, cool, we can survive in the wild. Now what?” 

Chloe was poking the fire with a stick, lifting it up occasionally to blow out a small flame or digging the burnt edge into the dirt. “Now,” she said, watching the spark dance on her twig, “We sit. Bond.” 

“Like we need to bond any more, Beale,” Beca said under her breath. Chloe smiled easily, locking her arm in Beca’s. 

“Beca bonding time isn’t something I’m really opposed to, you know,” she said, and Beca smiled back. 

“Better than Bella bonding?” 

“I mean, I don’t know about you, but Bella bonding never included the things Beca bonding does,” Chloe said, “Even if I wanted it to.” 

“Gross, Chlo.”

“I’m talking about with you.”

“Oh, right.” 

“You’re goofy,” Chloe said lightly, resting her head on Beca’s shoulder. Beca weaved her arm around Chloe, resting it on her hip and pulling her closer. 

“Hey,” she said quietly, the tone change enough to make Chloe lift her head again. “I wanted to talk to you.” 

Chloe sat up straighter, despite Beca’s hold on her, and faced the other girl nervously. “No,” Beca said quickly, flailing her hand, “It’s not bad or anything. I just, um…” she paused, watching the fire for a few seconds before blinking and looking away. “I just really like you, Chlo.” 

“We’ve done this whole ‘more than a friend’ talk before, Becs,” Chloe said, feigning her mocking tone. Beca smiled, but she was too nervous for it to reach her eyes. 

“It’s not that, obviously,” she said, “I just…wanted to apologize. For writing you off that one night at the retreat. You…um…well, you tried - in your own way - to tell me how you felt and I was an idiot so…I’m sorry about how I responded.” 

Chloe shrugged, smiling slightly. “It’s not a big deal, Becs.” 

“No, I know,” Beca said, “But it kinda is. Cuz I got…really freaked out that night. About everything. The offer and…uh, the proximity and…my brain was on high-alert, and your feelings weren’t being taken into account. And I know it’s different now that we’re…together and stuff. That it doesn’t really matter. But it does. ‘Cuz I hurt you when I shot you down, and I don’t want to do that. I was being dumb and scared and I’m sorry about it.” 

Chloe moved to rest her head on Beca’s shoulder again, nuzzling in. “You’re fine,” she said easily, her smile turning at the side of her mouth, “You’re so totally fine, Beca.” 

“Yeah?” Beca said nervously, nudging at Chloe’s forehead with her chin lightly so the redhead was looking up at her. The fire cracked, and Chloe reached to curl a tendril of Beca’s hair over her finger. “Yeah,” she said, almost sleepily. Beca pressed a kiss to her forehead, tugging her closer. 

“So when does camping get fun?” Beca asked in a breath, blowing out all the nervous energy and serious air that had been pressing at her ribcage. Chloe pulled herself up, putting a hand on Beca’s jaw and leaning in close. 

“Mmmmm, right about now,” she said lightly before pressing her lips to Beca’s. 


	104. The One Where Aubrey Approves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca asks Aubrey for approval to marry Chloe and asks for Aubrey's help to plan the proposal. — sent by anonymous

“Oh my aca-God what happened is everything alright what did you do I told her this was going to happen and I sw–” 

“Whoa, okay, tiger, slow the fuck down,” Beca placed hesitant hands on Aubrey’s shoulders, easing them down from where they raised in panic. From the moment Aubrey opened the door to see Beca standing nervously on the other side, twiddling the ring on her thumb, every possible nightmare entered her mind ranging from Chloe sitting unconscious on the hospital bed to the redhead being convinced by  _someone_ that bright purple hair was, in fact, a good idea to pursue. If the perfectly decorated front porch wasn’t enough to send Beca’s nerves through the roof, the blonde’s response to her face nearly made her black out. She breathed once, deeply, but tried to brush it off as a frustrated sigh as Aubrey backed away from her touch and tried to calm herself down. “Nothing’s wrong, Bree.” 

“Dear Go _d_ ,” Aubrey held a hand to her chest as she backed away from the door, “Beca you can’t just  _scare_ me like that.” 

“Your right, next time I’ll be sure to  _not_ ring your doorbell and wait for you to answer. How rude of me,” Beca muttered under her breath, and Aubrey gave her a glare that was equivalent to flipping the bird. Breaking through the tension that seemed to be radiating through the walls, Beca gave a weak smile. 

“It’s your face, Mitchell,” Aubrey said, her voice almost allowing an ounce of softness in it, “You look like you just found out that the Dixie Chicks just broke up.” 

“That’s not–” Beca ran her hands through her hair, shaking her head, “That’s not a relevant expression. Whatever. Not important.” 

They were still standing in the doorway, and Aubrey leaned against it with her arms crossed. She bit at the inside of her cheek, considering something. “So everything’s alright?” 

“Totally,” Beca said, letting out a breath and smiling, “Just, um, I have to, like, ask you something.” 

Peeling herself off the edge of the door, Aubrey looking Beca up and down before stepping back and gesturing at the room, letting Beca in. The girl hopped into the room nervously, running her hands over the backs of her jeans. As she scanned the framed photos that were sitting on the bookshelf, Aubrey slipped over to the “kitchen” (which was really just a counter and a microwave, but Aubrey did her best to see it’s “potential” which was, she told Chloe, the most important part about getting what you want) and fetched the mug of tea that sat there. “Not that I don’t appreciate the visit, Mitch, but if you could spit it out, then my blood pressure would go down a hell of a lot.” 

“Right, right,” Beca said quickly, moving to the couch when Aubrey left the “kitchen”. She sat on the edge of the couch, stick-straight, and bopped her knee. Aubrey reached out quickly, clamping her hand on Beca’s knee and forcing it still. The motion made Beca jumped but when she met Aubrey’s worried glare, she smiled guiltily. “Sorry, I’m…making this worse than it should be. I just…well. Okay. So…Chloe. And me…”

“Goddamnit Beca, you are really lucky you two are incapable of accidentally reproducing because if I didn’t know any better I would think you were telling me you knocked Chloe Beale up.” 

“No!” Beca said quickly, then realized the ridiculousness of her panic and backed up, “No, no, that’s…uh, right, that’s not…like…a thing. No. You see…so…obviously, uh, I love Chloe.” 

“Right,” Aubrey said slowly, putting down her mug on the coffee table carefully. 

“Like, I  _really_ love Chloe. And, it goes against almost all of what I’ve ever said about relationships, but…Well, okay. I was sitting next to her last week, just sitting on the couch, and it kinda clicked. Like…l-l-like the perfect mix, yunno? Or, err, I guess, like the perfect routine. Or whatever. I just kinda realized…that…God, I–” 

“Beca, please, just spit it out,” Aubrey pleaded. 

“I really fucking want to marry Chloe,” she said in one breath, her eyes focused on the ground, “And, I dunno, I wanted to get your approval because you’re her best friend, and in so many ways mean so many things to her, and I know it’s dumb, but your opinion means so much and–” 

“Yes,” Aubrey said easy. She wasn’t looking at Beca either, turning away and brushing the hair away from her face. It was feigned casualness, but it was enough to make Beca’s relief visible. “You’re an idiot, and I don’t know why my best friend decided to mate with you for life, because honestly, you’re the dimmest person I know.” 

“Um, yeah, so this isn’t how I thought this conversation was going to go,” Beca muttered, scratching the back of her neck. Then, Aubrey smiled, wide, and rolled her eyes. The room seemed lighter, somehow, like the air wasn’t pressing so hard on their shoulders. 

“Shut up, Mitchell,” she said lightly, “I’m trying to say that you’re an idiot because you made me think that Chloe was lying in a ditch somewhere as a result of something dumb you did, when instead you just wanted to ask whether or not I was okay with her settling down with the love of her life. Of course I’m okay with it. You look at her like a thirteen year old girl looks at a cardboard cut-out of Harry Styles. Also Jesse told me about this little marriage epiphany you had five minutes after you had it. FY-aca-I.” 

“Shit, Bree, you don’t even know how much that mea–” Aubrey held her hand up, index finger out, which was enough to force Beca’s mouth shut on instinct. When the captain was talking, she was not interrupted. 

“But you better not think that a ‘Yes’ is all you need me for, because if you present this to her in an even remotely similar manner to how you presented it to me, you will be even more dumb than I originally thought.” 

“Um…” Beca had started bouncing her knee again, looking at the wall decals around the room to fill the silence. She and Aubrey were acquaintances - friends, technically, because Aubrey, since the age of 11, defined her friendships by those with whom she could endure a day of shopping with and, a shock to all of the Bellas, when Chloe forced them to go to the mall together they returned with all their heads intact - but the intensity of Aubrey’s behavior was, at times, more than a little hard to stomach. And an even bigger challenge to respond to. She learned from Chloe that sometimes it was better to wait than to bite at the words immediately. 

“If you wouldn’t mind reaching over to that shelf…” she pointed to the bookshelf next to Beca, “There’s a spiral notebook in there, and if you could pull that out…Great.” 

The notebook was tattered, but in better condition than most of Beca’s recently bought ones, and in writing that was slightly more bubbly than Chloe’s scrawl were the words, “Mrs. Chloe ??” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Beca said when she opened the notebook. In it, were a series of questions in lime-green pen - the color that seemed to denote Aubrey’s writing - and a series of answers in pink. 

“Best friends have the job of making sure everything is perfect,” Aubrey said easily, “Now this was written freshman year, but I’m sure it still applies. Page three has proposal suggestions.” 

 


	105. The One Where the Fight Ends Wells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompitypromp-- person a doesn't like it when person b does ______ during an argument. person b doesn't like it when person a does ______ during an argument. processing + resolution = a pretty happy and stable marriage. — sent by anonymous

Beca, a storm of more emotion than more people realize compacted into a little more than five feet, was good at restraint. Or, at the very least, she was good at silence. Because when Chloe fought with her, she managed to close her mouth after the first few words, her hands closing into fists that slammed into pillows and couch cushions. There was a door hinge that was broken because Beca was trying to get away and slammed it too hard, and there was a lamp that was cracked because Beca had to jump to push everything down which resulted in knocking the decoration over. They had two cracked picture frames, one broken mug, and a plate that was super-glued together. 

Chloe wasn’t concerned about the damages. Though it was annoying to, in her frustration, have to clean up broken glass from the floor, she couldn’t care less about what Beca broke when she was holding her words back. She cared about the fact that Beca was holding back at all, and she could see the exact moment when Beca decided she was revealing too much. Her mouth would open, her eyes on fire, before everything tensed and her jaw snapped shut, the veins popping out in her neck. 

“No,” Chloe said when she noticed it this time, pointing at Beca and getting closer with each step. “No, you do  _not_ get to shut off. No, not this time, missy!” 

Beca glared at her, arms crossed. 

“Beca!” Chloe reached to pry Beca’s arms apart, but Beca relented. “Goddamnit. I hate it. You’re so… _ugnnnnnhhhh!”_

Chloe turned around, throwing her hands up in frustration. Beca followed her motioned, letting out a grunt as well. 

“I’m so what, Chlo? Hmm? Use your words, maybe,” Beca shot back, and Chloe spun to face her. 

“You are so….annoying…” Chloe said between her teeth. Beca threw her head back, laughing. 

“Oh my, I’m so offended,” Beca retorted with sarcasm, “Come  _on,_ Chlo. We’re not gonna get anywhere if you spend the entire time trying not to swear.” 

“I don’t care about sw–,” Chloe shook her head, cutting herself off. “That’s not the point!” 

“What’s the point?” Beca asked harshly. 

“The  _point_ is that you never talk about these things, you just…” Chloe waved her hand frantically, “Flail around and break things.” 

“And how is that different from you being little miss sunshine, huh?” Beca said, walking out of the room, “God, let it fucking out.” 

–

So Beca was good at restraint. That was clear enough in her daily color choices and the way she held herself, closed off the world with rolled eyes and perfectly cross arms. Only, Chloe was good too. Her restraint was painted in “oopsie-daisies” and “golly-gees”, but it was still there, pinning back the ugly for fear that it might attack someone unfairly. 

Chloe sat on their bed, realizing this as she twisted the wedding ring on her finger. While the typical forty-five minutes post-argument was normally punctuated with crashes and clanks, there was silence coming from downstairs where Beca decided to retreat, and Chloe used that noiselessness to replay the arguments in their head. 

She was sweet. Sugar sweet. And though it wasn’t a quick tense of a jaw and a broken dish, it was just as productive. 

Which is to say, it wasn’t productive at all. 

She slipped out of the bedroom silently, padding down the steps slowly and peering around the corner to see Beca fiddling with the tips of her fingers where she sat on the kitchen tile. Her head was pressed against the cabinet, and when Chloe walked in, she avoided eye contact. 

“Hey,” Chloe said softly, reaching out to take the hand that Beca was fiddling with. “You’re really…” she sighed, looking up and sitting up straighter to try to gain confidence. Then, she closed her eyes, tight. “You’re really fucking annoying. And if you’d stop being a little shit for five seconds, you would see that this is a dumb as fuck argument and then just admit how you feel to make it easier.” 

Beca laughed, then - a giggle, really - bubbling up through her throat like Chloe was tickling her uncontrollably. Chloe laughed too, but poked Beca in the side. “I’m not gonna do that again if you just laugh at me, Becs!” 

“Sorry!” Beca took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Her hands were up in mock surrender. “Sorry, sorry, um,” she coughed, “No. That was good. Suprising. But good. How did it feel?” 

Chloe bit the inside of her cheek before smiling. “Really fucking good,” she sighed, and Beca laughed again. 

“Alright, sailor,” Beca said, “Let’s not take it too far.” Chloe slapped her lightly on the shoulder before settling down completely next to her. 

“Your turn.” Beca sent her a quizzical look, and Chloe rolled her eyes. “What did you learn from today’s screaming match, dear wife?” 

Beca sighed dramatically, looking down and talking quickly. “I need to share more of my feelings and let it out,” she said, “Like, for example, I hate that I’m so tamed that I just used the phrase ‘share more of my feelings’.” 

Chloe chuckled, pressing her forehead into Beca’s shoulder. “What else?” 

“I hate fighting with you, and that’s why I hold it in,” Beca said softly, taking Chloe’s hand. “You cry when you’re angry, and I made a promise not to let you cry, so, it’s hard to battle those instincts.” 

Chloe hummed. Their ring fingers ran over each other. “You know I’d rather you push me, right?” 

Beca nodded. “I hear ya,” she said, “And I’ll try.” 

“Samesies,” Chloe said shortly, and Beca laughed lightly at that, knocking Chloe’s knees with her own. “Now…Chinese food?” 

“Dear Lord, yes.” 

 


	106. The One In Tasmania

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I stumbled across your minifics on AO3 and migrated to read more them here, they're fantastic! Here's a prompt if you're still taking them: Amy somehow convinces the Bellas to visit her in Tasmania. Hijinks ensue and in a bizarre series of events involving a eucalyptus tree, a sheep and a rugby team, BeChloe reveal their feelings to one another. — sent by anonymous

“Okay, explain to me who the fuck those dudes are and why they look like they could literally sneeze and blow us all away.” Beca was tired, scratching at the edge of her temple with a sigh. Between jetlag that wasn’t capable of leaving her tiny body and the full day of traveling they had had searching for “The Tree of Acapella Music” - dubbed by Amy because it was the precise tree she stood under when she was inspired to audition for Fiddler on the Roof ( “Why isn’t it just the tree of Musical Theater, then?” Emily had asked on the carride there, to which Amy responded, “Because without the inspiration for that audition, the acapella world wouldn’t be aware of my aca-godliness. Don’t take this the wrong way, aca-child, but you’re the dumbest person on the planet”). 

“That would be the meaty Taroona Rugby Club, and I’ve called dibs,” Amy said under her breath, sauntering up to the men and give them all an individual up-down gaze, body-rolling between all of them. 

“What the actual fuck,” Beca shot at Chloe, who didn’t seem to question anything and was just looking on with interested eyes. 

“I don’t know,” Chloe said, “Maybe the Green Bay Packers started a sort of trend.” 

Stacie bent down slightly to insert herself into the conversation. “It’s true. Men’s interest in acapella - and acapella layyyyydies has increased by at least 35% since the Packers came out as aca-boys.” 

“That does  _not_ explain why we’re in Tasmania, under a fucking eucalyptus tree, with a professional rugby team and, Jesus Christ, Chlo, I  _told_ you to bring a coat!” Beca’s rant changed direction when she noticed how Chloe’s was shivering, donning a thin tank top where everyone else was decked out in winter gear. “Different hemisphere, different season, Red.” 

“Shut up,” Chloe finally snapped, her easy look becoming a glare as the breeze pushed through, “I failed maps.” 

“Okay Aca-people,” Amy clapped from the other side of the place they stood in, next to a particularly tall rugby player. “Who’s ready for a Riffffff-Offffffffff?!” 

“No,” Beca muttered quickly into Chloe’s ear. 

“Oh no,” Cynthia Rose said out loud, holding her hands up. “Not a chance we travelled this far to riff-off with those amateurs. Nuh-uh. I’m out.” 

“Wha-?” Amy’s brow furrowed in confusion. Lilly walked up to her, whispering something before following CR. 

“It’s too cold out anyway,” Stacie said, looking the boys up and down, “I need full use of this bod in order to…convey the melody best.” 

“If have the team goes, then…like…should we go, guys?” Emily pressed from beside Beca, jumping a little on her heels. She was biting her lip and looking at the glare Amy was throwing their way. 

“It’s not half the team, there’s still Jess-” Chloe looked around to find Jessica and Ashley, but somewhere along the line, they ducked out too. Beca turned around, throwing her arms up. 

“Fantastic, now we leave,” she said simply. When Chloe didn’t budge, she dropped her hands. “Come  _on_ , Chlo, this is dumb. Ridiculous even. You of all people…like…you’re  _swirling_ in student loan debt, Chloe. Why the hell did you let Amy plan a group trip to Australia for this shit?” 

“Oi, watch what you’re callin’ shit, Shortstack,” Amy shouted. The men seemed confused, but hadn’t budged from their spot the entire time the girls were filing out. Beca assumed that the athlete stereotype was just…international. 

“Beca, I mean, we came all this way,” Chloe stuttered, looking nervously at Emily and then back to Beca. “The least we could do–” 

“The least we could do??? Chloe, what the hell? Why are you so into this?”

Chloe opened her mouth to talk but closed it quickly, looking away. Her hands were on her hips, but she moved them to cover her chest when another breeze hit. 

“The quicker you answer me, the quicker we get into the goddamn van and turn the heater on, Chlo,” Beca threatened, but the girl just bit her lip, avoiding eye contact. “Come on, what’s this about?” 

“She wanted to sing with you again, Idiot,” Amy butted in, closer than she was before. Beca spun around, facing her as Chloe gasped. The sound made Beca spin again to see an outraged and embarrassed Chloe at a loss for words. 

“What?” 

“No that’s not–” 

“CR might have fallen too hard into gambling again, and the national poker team may or may not be associated closely with the Tasmanian Rugby Union, which, of course, is my main turf,” Amy patted her stomach contentedly, “So when we found out that the Penguins over here were willing to do the poker team a favor in return for some aca-fun, how could we say no?” 

“…” Beca stuttered for a second, starting her sentences and then closing her eyes and shaking her head before trying up again. “I don’t understand…you….God…you guys are insane….what…You know what? It doesn’t matter. What I want to know is why Chloe was cool with any of this.” 

“I take it back, aca-child,” Amy said, finally close enough to the three girls to put a hand on a very scared Emily’s shoulder, “You’re not the dumbest person in the world, your aca-dad is. Beca, she was willing to pay for three more years at Barden just to sing with you. You think she’s not above paying for a trip to Australia?” 

Beca turned to face Chloe, who’s eyes were filling up with tears. “No, but…she stayed because of the Bellas….And Russian lit….” 

“I’ve read Anna Karenina at least seven times, Becs,” Chloe said, her voice cracking. “And watched the Kiera Knightley movie version like…twelve times.” 

“Chlo, I’m sorry, but singing with me…like…. _really_ not worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.” 

Chloe chuckled, shaking her head. When she glanced up, she looked at Amy, biting her lip. Amy nodded once, silently, before pulling Emily away saying, “Aca-kid, have you ever met a national rugby team?” 

Taking Beca’s hands, Chloe sighed. “It really kinda is, Becs. Worth that much money, I mean.” 

Beca pulled her hands away, shaking her head. “No, no it’s really not.” 

“Beca!” Chloe said sharply, pulling Beca’s focus back in. “Whatever, that’s not important! I’m trying to tell you that I’m in love with you, so if you cut the financial talk for like, three seconds, that’d be awes.” 

Beca blinked, looking around. “W-what did…wha…um…” 

“I’m really cold, Becs,” Chloe said, desperation seeping into her voice, “And I’ve just admitted to the reason I’ve been acting like an absolute idiot for three years, so please dear God get your head together long enough to answer me.” 

“Right,” Beca said quickly, shaking her head. “Right. Right. Yeah,” she took Chloe’s hands, warming them, “I mean…same. Same. About the…the whole love thing. Same. We didn’t need to leave the country to admit that though.” 


	107. The One With Jason Mraz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you've got the time, could you possibly write one where Chloe serenades beca with I'm yours by Jason mraz with the help of the rest of the Bellas as back up? Thanks so much, I absolutely love your writing ! — sent by anonymous

She always got a few butterflies before she performed. Overall, though, they were dismissable - overtaken by Aubrey’s uncontrollable anxiety or Beca’s snappy jitters. She shrugged them off with a light smile, taking a breath and counting to ten with eyes closed before walking onto stage. Then, it was easy. As if her brain were on auto-pilot, she performed like she had a thousand times before, moving smoothly through the notes and the movements without thought for the audience in front of her. So, no, stage-fright was  _totally_ not Chloe Beale’s game. 

But today? Well, today she was pacing in the bathroom outside of the Bellas rehearsal space, feeling her hands get clammy despite how cold they’d grown. Today, she wasn’t capable of breathing past the number three before the air got caught in her throat. She’d torn up almost one complete toilet paper roll, ripping it into tiny pieces to keep her mind off the performance. Today, of course, of all days, she would get stage-fright. Today of all days. 

“It’s going to be fine,” Stacie said, sitting on the sink of the bathroom. “You’re a pro, and this song is ages old anyway.” 

“I’m not worried,” Chloe said quickly, her voice snapping. When she looked at Stacie, the other woman had her eyebrows raised and her hands up in mock surrender. She jumped off the sink, stopping before she pulled open the door. “You might want to slap some color in your face. You like like Aubrey pre-puke, and if you’re trying to get into Beca’s pants, that’s not the best way to go about it.” 

“I’m not trying to–” 

“Those leggings are cute, Beale, but they do nothing to hide your toner.” 

“Just-” she held her hands to her forehead, “Just give me five, okay?” 

Stacie flashed her the a-ok sign with her hands before leaving. Chloe took the time to look in the mirror, checking her mascara and making sure that her hair was all in the right place. 

“You’ve got this, Beale,” she said determinedly to herself, a finger pointed at her reflection, “You’ve totes got this.” 

–

“So I was thinking we’d work on the performance set real quick and then maybe riff for the last thirty minutes, kinda tryna up the creative flow to brainstorm for the new routine,” Beca said when Chloe entered the rehearsal space. She was fiddling with a binder against her chest, and it was almost stunning the way that Beca was greeting her. She couldn’t believe this was the same girl that she had to force to audition. The face was same - all sharp angles, though they’d softened a bit somehow and Chloe thought it was in the eyes. In the way she looked at her. It was blurred around the edges. 

“Earth to Chlo…” Beca said, waving a hand in front of Chloe’s face. The redhead blinked, shaking her head. 

“Right, right,” she said quickly, “Err, um, actually, the Bellas and I set something up for rehearsal today.” 

“What?” 

“We prepped something already,” Chloe said quietly, pursing her lips. 

“Did I miss a rehearsal, because I thought we agreed Sundays weren’t necessary anymore…” Beca said cautiously, putting the binder down on the piano. 

“They aren’t!” Chloe confirmed, “We just…uh…well, I just…” 

“Sit down, Hobbit,” Amy said from the back of the room. Beca’s eyes shot up to her, as all the Bellas came into the performing space. “And don’t fight it, because as a professional jello wrestler and black belt, you don’t want to test me.” 

“Chlo, wha–” Beca was scurrying, stepping away from the piano and moving to sit down because Amy could get her hands around her tiny arms and lift her. 

“You heard the woman,” CR piped in, “No questions!” 

Beca’s mouth flew shut, but her eyes said chapters. She was glaring at Chloe, scared and nervous and confused and panicked. She never did like changes in her routine. Chloe just smiled weakly, blowing her a shaky kiss and turning around to move to the center of the room. As they all stood in position, Chloe hummed one note, whispering, “One. Two. Three. Four.” 

Ashley and Jessica picked up the notes immediately, bouncing back and forth and letting Fat Amy join in for the tempo. Chloe tapped the beat out on her thigh, bouncing her hips until it was her turn to sing. 

“ _Well you done done me and you bet I felt it/ I tried to be chill but you’re so hot that I melted/ I fell right through the cracks, and now I’m tryna get back…”_

Her voice bounced through the auditorium, echoing and twisting around the back-up vocals that the Bellas provided. She could feel within in a slight shake - that nervousness from before that was so foreign to her. But she pushed through it, using the notes as chances to catch her breath and push down the butterflies. She was afraid to meet Beca’s eyes, but as she reached the chorus, she stood directly in front of the other woman. 

“ _But I won’t hesitate no more/ No more, it can not wait/ I’m Yours,”_ she hummed to the tune of the other Bellas. 

“ _Listen to the music of the moment people dance and sing/ We’re just one big family, and it’s our god forsaken right to be loved, loved, loved,”_ she sang. When she looked at Beca, the other woman’s mouth was open, surprised, but her eyes were sparkling (somewhere in the back of Chloe’s mind she pulled at her Toddlers and Tiaras marathons to pick out the word “smize”) and her toe was tapping, and she was leaning forward as Chloe moved closer. “ _So I won’t hesitate no more, no more/ It can not wait, I’m Yours.”_

The Bellas had moved closer with her, so they were all around Beca, and Chloe grabbed at her tempo-tapping fingers, pulling Beca up to standing. She pressed against her, hands on her hips, and rocked slowly.  _“There’s no need to complicate, our time is short/ This is our fate, I’m Yours…_ ” she started scatting, giggling when Beca pulled her closer with a smiler, “D _o want to scootch on over closer dear,”_  she said, her voice growing quieter as she breathed over Beca’s jawline, “ _And I will nibble your ear,”_  she sang, letting out a playful bite at Beca’s ear and reveling in the way Beca squealed into her chest. 

She started tickling the smaller woman, her song breaking apart until they reached the chorus again, giving Beca mercy enough to sing again. Beca joined in then, her hips bouncing slightly under Chloe’s fingers, and the Bellas started to clap to the beat. Though Chloe tuned them out. Tuned the entire song out. She was positive that she was only singing to keep up with Beca’s voice, which was drowning her ears in hazy clouds and laughter. She thought she was going to be sick. She thought she was going to fly. She thought that she didn’t know what she thought, and that this was an entirely new autopilot. 

She didn’t even realize when the song ended, silence echoing through the room. Her forehead was pressed against Beca’s who was still giggling. Behind her, one of the Bellas cleared their throat. Chloe closed her eyes, like she had so many times before a performance. 

“I’m yours, Becs,” she said, breathless, “If you’ll have me.” 

Beca smiled, her eyes jumping down to Chloe’s lips. “Fuck yes,” she said, quietly, and Chloe couldn’t help the squeal that broke out from her chest. She lifted Beca up, twirling her around until the smaller girl’s giggles broke into light pleas to stop. When she set her back down, she took Beca’s face in her hands, craning her neck to press a kiss to Beca’s lips. Distantly, she heard the Bellas applaud, hoot, and holler, though she was sure she only heard it because it was what pushed Beca away, shaking her head. 

“You’re the corniest romantic, Beale,” Beca said under her breath, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Chloe’s mouth.

“Yeah, well, you’re the one that fell for it,” Chloe said simply, and Beca laughed. 

“Don’t you forget it.” 


	108. The One With the Potato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are you taking prompts right now? I think this would be a really cute prompt for Bechloe! look! yay! thenaebyrd777(.)tumblr(.)com/post/50180661983/inhalers-tips-for-flirting-carve-your-number I love all your minifics, I check if you have anything new everyday. I am addicted to your writing, dude. ♥ — sent by anonymous

She isn’t even really sure where the potato came from. Because they’d been sitting on opposite ends of the library the entire course of the Saturday, but Beca was certain that all the redhead had in her backpack was a ridiculous amount of textbooks and her dinosaur of a laptop. She had rolled her eyes when the girl walked in, because she had tripped on the end of the desk and was making entirely too much noise unpacking. More than that, her laptop was laughably old - it might as well have been a typewriter - and Beca couldn’t help but think that she was truly an amateur when it came to long days in the study section of the library. 

That being said, she spent entirely too much of her designated essay-writing time observing the redhead, so she wasn’t entirely a pro either. 

Still, this was…strange. More than strange. She thought she saw the redhead’s stare a few times, blue eyes locking onto hers and smirking with an ounce of knowing, but aside from that she assumed they were just two strangers locked in the same unfortunate situation of needing to write a research paper in less than twelve hours. She didn’t think that by the end of her date with the library, she’d have a potato with a girl’s phone number etched into the side. 

It was nearing three a.m., and Beca had been camping out in the library since eight in the morning, so her eyes were weighted with sleepy lids and her frown had become so natural that her mouth felt sore. She thought, at first, that it was a hallucination. The woman left to use the bathroom, taking her entire back with her but leaving her textbooks and laptop. When she was back, she was smiling proudly, and she made just as much noise packing up as she unpacking - which was less than appreciated by Beca, who was working on her conclusion with more than a little frustration. She passed by Beca’s desk slowly, her eyes glued on Beca from the moment she turned to leave. Then, the hand behind her back moved to put a potato on the desk, which she pushed lightly so it rolled to Beca. 

When Beca looked up, confused, she winked. She was out the door before Beca thought to pick up the vegetable, turning it around until she found the etchings that revealed what looked like a phone number. 

Yes, she was definitely hallucinating. Only, she could feel the grains of dirt on the pads of her fingers, and the etching was sharp and fresh. She smelled it. 

She wasn’t sure why, but she was smiling. 

Standing up, she left her laptop as she half-jogged towards the exit of the library. There, walking down the steps, was the redhead. 

“What the hell,” Beca said breathlessly, causing the woman to turn around. She had a grin on her face. “Are you hitting on me via a root vegetable?” 

“From french fries to mashed potatoes, it’s flexible and so am I?” the redhead tested out the pick-up line, asking it like a question for Beca to approve of. There was a joking, embarrassed nature to her tone, and Beca, for some reason, couldn’t help but let her laughter bubble up. 

“How long have you been keeping that in there?” she asked, and the redhead shrugged, stepping up a stair closer to Beca. 

“Stole it from the cafeteria yesterday,” she answered, and Beca nodded, still holding the potato. 

“Your computer is a joke,” Beca said quickly, and the redhead laughed, nodding. 

“So is your RBF.” 

“If you’re trying to ask me out, calling me a bitch doesn’t do it for me,” Beca said. The redhead had walked up a few more steps, now level with Beca. She realized that up close, the woman’s eyes were irresistibly blue. 

“And potatoes?” she said lightly, “Do potatoes do the trick?” 

“You’re so weird,” Beca said under her breath. The woman chuckled proudly. “Okay. Fine.” 

The woman squealed, clapping her hands. “Just wait until we tell our grandchildren that I asked you out with a potato,” she said with a high pitch, and Beca tossed the potato at her without warning. It was light enough that the woman caught it easily, pursing her lips into a grin. “You might need it,” she said when she handed it back to Beca, “Just so you know where and when to pick me up.” 

“Right,” Beca said in response to the way the other woman had leaned closer to her, “Um, so I’ve got a conclusion to wrap up.” 

The woman leaned back, nodding quickly. “Yes! Right! Of course. Good luck on that,” she stepped back, turning around to head back down the steps. “Oh, shoot!” she said as she stopped in her tracks. Beca had to stop herself from mouthing the G-rated exclamation incredulously. “I’m Chloe,” she said, holding out a hand. Beca shuffled the potato in her hand, taking Chloe’s. 

“Beca,” she said, and it was as if she’d told Chloe she was the most beautiful woman in the world. The redhead beamed, eyes on fire, and Beca felt like she was beaming right back. 

“Nice to meet you, Beca,” she said, her hand and eyes lingering for more than a moment before she snapped out of her haze. “Call me!” 


	109. The One With Fun Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bechloe inspired by "Changing My Major to Joan" from Fun Home. They did it on Late Night With Seth Meyers! You know this because we just watched it together on skype. — sent by scrawniest-calamity

It always starts with a kiss. Every movie, every book, every love song…Sebastian had the right idea, because it always starts with a kiss. And this was no different. 

Chloe lay on the edge of the twin bed, hardly room between Beca and the wall and overheating under the blankets and the feeling of the other woman’s skin. Beca was lost somewhere deep in sleep, her face softened by dreams and her hair curling at the edges. Chloe was awake. Wide-awake. She looked at the other woman, throwing her side of the blankets back to sit up. “ _What happened last night? Are you really here?”_

She reached out to touch the hair in Beca’s face, but held back. Her hand was shaking, only slightly, and she hadn’t felt this awake in years. “ _Oh my god, last night…”_ she watched the way her hand trembled and shook, an out-of-focus Beca behind it. “ _Omigod omigod omigod omigod last nigh_ t.”

She backed up out of the bed, tangled in the sheets until she managed to find the floor. 

 _“I got so excited. I was too enthusiastic._  
Thank you for not laughing.   
Well, you laughed a little bit at one point when I was touching you   
And said I might lose consciousness,   
Which you said was adorable, and I just have to trust  
that you don’t think I’m an idiot or some kind of an animal.”

She glanced back at Beca - at the way the younger woman hardly moved when she escaped the bed. Small puffs of breath left her mouth, and her eyeliner was smeared. And Chloe felt it again, this overwhelming outpouring of admiration for the girl that was half-naked in her bed. 

“ _I’ve never lost control due to overwhelming lust,_ ” she was apologetic, almost, at the bruises that line Beca’s neck. More than that, she was confused. And more, still, she was oddly and completely  _not_ confused. Certain. “ _…but I must say that…_

 __  
“I’m changing my major to Beca.  
I’m changing my major to sex with Beca.  
I’m changing my major to sex with Beca,   
With a minor in kissing Beca.”

She saw it then, the syllabus placed in front of her like the first day of school, and in her stomach she felt the same first day jitters peeking down to her toes. “ _Foreign studies to Beca’s inner thighs…_ ” It took a bite of her hand to keep from crawling back in bed, “ _A seminar on Beca’s ass in her Levi’s…”_ She was sleeping, she was sleeping, and Chloe was not to interrupt that but her eyes…her eyes, - “ _And Beca’s crazy blue eyes…”_

 _“Beca,”_ she started, standing over Beca’s head, “ _I feel like Hercules oh god, that sounds ridiculous.”_ She wanted to jump, or dance, or sing, and considered the option of calling an emergency rehearsal to get it. Only, she resisted. Because Beca was sleeping - she was sleeping - and Chloe was not to interrupt that. Which, honestly, was for the best, because if Beca saw her with this burst of electric excitement, she’d never let her live it down. Attempting to take a breath, Chloe squealed again before she checked to make sure Beca didn’t hear. 

_“Just keep on sleeping through this,_   
_And I’ll work on calming down, So by the time you’ve woken up,_   
_I’ll be cool; I’ll be collected._   
_And I’ll have found some dignity…”_

There was a rosiness to Beca’s cheeks, half from being pressed into the pillow, half from a night of cardio, and Chloe couldn’t push down her smile no matter how hard she tried. “… _but who needs dignity?_ _Cause this is so much better.”_

Better. It really was, and Chloe decided that if Beca did wake up, she jump just as high, squeal just as loud, like the Christmas she got her Barbie Ferrari, and she was certain she’d have no shame. None at all. Because, “ _I’m radiating happiness…_

 __  
“Will you stay here with me for the rest of the semester?  
We won’t need any food. We’ll live on sex alone.  
Sex with Beca!” 

And, looking at Beca, she felt suddenly like she understood every champagne bottle ever. Because she was certain she was bubbling over the over-sized t-shirt she wore, boiling and bubbling and – “ _I am writing a thesis on Beca.  
It’s a cutting edge field, and my mind is blown.” _

Her graduation gown, picked up by Aubrey and delivered two days ago, was thrown onto her desk, and in her periphery she saw it. Saw the nights she spent slipping through textbooks and sinking in notecards, and it became abundantly clear that with the woman in her bed she would do it all again. And again. And again. 

 _“I would gladly stay up every night_  
And hone my compulsory skills with Beca.   
I will study my way down her spine.   
Familiarize myself with her well-made outline,   
while she researches mine.”  


She thought of it all, and of the certainty with which she’d throw it away for another few minutes under the blankets, and she stopped. She became aware, then, of how dry her mouth was.  _“I don’t know who I am…”_ On her wall was a bulletin board with old photographs. A curly-haired redhead sat in one of the pictures, a book propped on her lap. Her hair was braided and tied with a bright scrunchie, and her smile was wide. Sure and certain and proud. She was stunning in her simplicity. “ _I’ve become someone new.”_ She was still, static. Stuck on ‘shouldn’t’s and ‘should’s. “ _Nothing I just did is anything I would do_.” She was night a moving force to be reckoned with, or a bottle of champagne. She was not uncontrollable, boiling with something beyond fear and leaning towards excitement. She held a book on her lap, and she was sure. “ _Overnight, everything changed. I am not prepared.”_

Chloe’s mouth was dry. There were spots in her vision, and while she’d like to blame alcohol, none was involved. “ _I’m dizzy. I’m nauseous. I’m shaking. I’m scared…_

 _“Am I falling in to nothingness,_  
or flying into something so sublime?”  


Her hands still shook. She wondered when that side effect would go away. “ _I don’t know…” S_ he looked back at Beca, and her breaths were steady. She matched them to the rise and fall of Beca’s chest, almost laughing when Beca smacked her lips and turned over, murmuring. “… _but I’m changing my major to Beca…”_ She looked at the photo above her bed. Chloe apologized to the girl in the picture, touching it lightly. She was apologetic. More than that, she was confused. And more, still, she was oddly and completely  _not_  confused. Certain _._  
  


“ _I thought all my life I’d be all alone,  
But that was before I was lying prone in this dorm room bed with Beca.”_

She kneeled down, her hand inching closer to the one Beca hung over the edge of the bed. “ _Look, she drooled on the pillow, so sweet…”_ Her eyes trailed over Beca’s body - over the way her hair curled from sweat and her legs were bent, arms outstretched, waiting for something to hold onto. “ _All sweaty and tangled up in my bedsheets.”_

And it was strange, how easily everything shifted. How it started with a kiss and moved at 180mph. It was strange, really.  _“And my heart feels complete.”_

The graduation gown on her desk managed to grow hazy if she looked directly at Beca for long enough. Like a trick of the eye - or of the mind. She blinked and willed it further away. Tracing Beca’s jawline, “ _Let’s never leave this room. How about we stay here til finals?”_

Beca shuddered under the touch but didn’t wake up, and Chloe pressed a kiss to her temple. There, right there, when her lips touched Beca’s skin, she closed her eyes long enough to make the gown go. “ _I’ll go to school forever._ ”

She was apologetic, almost. More than that, she was confused. And more, still, she was oddly and completely  _not_ confused.  _“I’ll take out a dementedly huge high interest loan.”_ Certain.

She felt her Russian lit textbook near her knee, hovering in it’s leather-bound cover. Slowly, she nudged it under her bed, pressing another kiss to Beca’s temple for help. It was worth it, she thought, to be bubbling over every day and every night. It was worth it. And would continue to be. Again and again and again.

  _“Cause I’m changing my major to Beca.”_


	110. The One With the Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you're taking bechloe prompts I'd love one set a few years in the future, at a reunion or wedding or something, and it's the first time Beca and Chloe have talked in years. — sent by dr-tan

“Beca.” 

It’s less of a question, more of a statement. Beca hears it from behind her, immediately recognizing the voice that she’d pushed to the back of her mind night after night for four years. She sighs, hoping to shrug off the weight that her name brings when it’s said with those lips. She thinks that she’s been standing still too long to pretend like she hadn’t heard. 

“Chloe,” she says heavily, turning around. Chloe’s nervous, holding her hands close to her chest and fiddling with the clutch that she’s holding. Her hair is short, cut into a bob and let to curl in soft waves around her face. It suits her, makes her look older somehow and yet still young. She looks like she learned how to stand up straighter, though Beca’s not even sure she knows what that means. For a moment, they stand across from each other, soaking it all in. 

Beca feels almost self-conscious about it, pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear and fighting the urge to look down. Jeans at a college graduation wasn’t the most appropriate outfit choice, but it isn’t  _her_ graduation, and technically they didn’t have tickets to the actual ceremony, so she wore an outfit appropriate for a fancy brunch out: jeans and a blouse that laced in the back. Her hair is pinned back, and she hopes Chloe forgot her tendency to fiddle with her hair when she’s nervous about something. Because it’s so intricately pinned up that anyone who knew Beca would know immediately how much she struggled to get out of the car today. 

The tension is broken quickly, though it feels like a thirty minute cross-examination, when Chloe smiles lightly, pulling Beca in for a hug. “It’s so good to see you,” she says, her breath in Beca’s ear, and Beca isn’t a crier. Never has been. But she feels herself tear up by the simple words, her voice caught in her throat. 

She coughs it off, pulling away. “Yeah, no,” she says, nodding, “Same.” 

Chloe smiles again, her eyes boring into Beca, and Beca thinks that she needs a slow re-introduction to Chloe because this sudden jump back into her scent and her smile and her stare is entirely too much for the average human to handle. 

“Can’t believe she’s graduating,” Beca says to break up the silence. An old couple shuffles between them, and Chloe steps forward to get out of the their way. She puts her hands on Beca’s elbows to steady herself, jumping back when Beca stares at her in surprise. 

“I know,” Chloe says, “Seems like yesterday she was a little baby Bella auditioning on our doorstep.” Beca nodds, looking down at her feet. “I’m glad she got all of us to come back for the occasion, though. Seems like an era is ending.” 

Beca’s sure that she tastes blood when she bites the inside of her cheek. It’s enough to jolt her awake, but doesn’t help her current inability to swallow. She feels tears - they’re always in the background, sitting there, and threatening - it’s her main concern, really, because she could break out in any time and completely ruin the “adult” “mature” “calm” conversation she was managing to have. 

“Are you okay, Becs?” Chloe asks. She can see it, that way that Beca’s eyes grow three sizes before she breaks down. Beca sniffs, looking up. 

“Yeah,” she says, “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Totally fine.” 

She can’t help the flash of thoughts that course through her. Because they’re standing in the same courtyard that they met, and the same courtyard that they walked down in green gowns and smiling faces. She can see the unanswered text messages, the skype calls that she let slip through her desktop because she was scared that everything changed without the guise of Barden bearing over them. She can see the lives that they’ve both lived, and she hates the fact that she doesn’t know the name of the school Chloe works at. She hates the fact that she doesn’t know what lessons she’s teaching the kids, or what her favorite student’s name is. She hates, even, that she’s missed the stories of the people that came after her - the night visits and the gossip that came after. She hates that she missed more than one second of this woman’s life, and she hates that she can’t find the reason she forbade herself from knowing in the first place. 

Chloe is close enough that Beca can  _feel_ her, sense her with her goose-bumped skin, and even if Beca wants to step back, she can’t because of the crowd that is starting to form. “Beca,” she says, and it’s slow, but it’s still not a question. 

“I really really missed you , Chlo,” she says, because it’s all she can manage. The other Bellas will be by soon, and she’s starting to recognize the way her voice is cracking just enough to break through the tear gate. Chloe tuts, and Beca thinks there’s a touch of water in her eyes too. At the very least, there’s concern. Her hands are on Beca’s again, and she pulls her in for another hug. This one is deep where the other was surface, heavy where the other was light. She can hear Chloe’s heartbeat. 

“I really missed you too.” 


	111. The One With Ikea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe loses Beca In ikea, hilarity ensues? — sent by anonymous

She didn’t want to come in the first place. If Beca had a say, she would be at home mixing something terrific while Chloe organized the house - adding the charm that she’d learned how to add from some “How to Be a Girl Who Shops on Etsy” class that Beca seemed to have missed in her four years at Barden. So it wasn’t really fair that she had to be dragged to Ikea in the first place, because how much of a say did she really have in what they picked out anyway? 

“You’ve got a different perspective,” Chloe explained on the carride there, “Dark colors and cool hues and stuff.” 

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Beca responded, throwing her head to the back of the seat. “My dorm was designed by Doritos crumbs.” 

Chloe chuckled, shaking her head. Because whatever Beca said, she’d have to walk into that building and spend the inevitable five hours walking through every corner to make sure they didn’t miss an item that had  _just_ the amount of quirk required for the new Beale/Mitchell household. 

And Chloe suspected that Beca would be a handful in the store. From complaining about her feet hurting to the temperature of the warehouse, it was rather inevitable that Beca would end up turning into a three year old and whining her way to the exit. She just hadn’t suspected that Beca might have a spark of interest for  _something_ in the store - and certainly not enough interest to wander off on her own while Chloe mused about the advantages and disadvantages of a low-rise bed. Granted, she could’ve been searching for a bathroom and gotten lost, but Beca had a tendency to not want to leave Chloe’s side in public settings unless her mind wandered to something else, so when Chloe turned around to find that Beca wasn’t there with a sigh on her lips, she assumed the other woman had found something she actually wanted to inspect. 

She gave her a few minutes, checking the prices on the bed frame she was considering before beginning to get worried. It occurred to her after five minutes that Beca was the world’s worst when it came to directions. She had no sense of a natural compass, getting lost at Chloe’s school every time she went despite  _actual_ children being able to figure out the building every day. 

“Beca?” she said lightly, peeking through a few displays without luck. “Beca?”

She thought she heard Beca’s response, but upon spinning around to address it, she found that it was just a mother and father and college-age son discussing the importance of a new garbage can for a dorm room. 

“Becs!” she hissed, turning the corner and leaving her cart behind, “Beca, come on, this is  _not_ funny.” 

She definitely heard a crash in response this time, from somewhere about twenty feet ahead and to her left. Fast-walking to the source of the noise, she finally reached a simplistic cupboard. There was no Beca to be seen though. 

“Beca,” she tried, whispering at the cupboard and looking around so as to ensure that she didn’t look as crazy as she felt. An old woman walked by, staring at her with snake eyes and Chloe smiled sweetly in response, waving before hissing Beca’s name again. A muffled noise came from inside the cupboard. Chloe reached out, tugging at the door handle. When she opened it, Beca’s eyes met her on the other side. She was a tangle of limbs, jammed together to fit inside the tiny square. 

“Beca, what the hell?!” 

Beca smiled up at her sheepishly. “I wanted to see if I could fit,” she said, biting her lip. “And now I’m stuck.” 

Chloe tutted, getting down on her knees to pull Beca’s out. She put her hands on Beca’s elbows, tugging, but Beca didn’t move. 

“I gotta say, Chlo, these things are terribly made,” she said, huffing, “Like, this shit has real poor craftsmenship.” 

Chloe rolled her eyes, tugging again. “That’s because,” she grunted, trying harder, “It’s not built to fit tiny humans.” 

“I’m not that tiny,” Beca argued. Chloe let go of her arms, stepping back. Beca looked at her, concerned. “Okay, okay fine, I’m tiny. What do you want me to say, Chlo? Cuz right now I’m lost in an Ikea and trapped in a Swedish cupboard, so I’ll say pretty much whatever you want if you can help me get the fuck out.” 

“Good,” Chloe chirped, moving closer to her again. This time, she put her hands near Beca’s armpits, tugging. Beca jumped back, biting her lip. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Beca said quickly, smiling, “It tickles.” 

“You’re an actual child,” Chloe said with her hands on her hips. Beca tried her hardest to shrug in the tiny quarters she was stuck in. Chloe continued her efforts, effectively getting half of Beca out before she was hanging from the cupboard. 

“Get your feet out under your legs,” she said, and Beca wiggled to listen. “Now push.” 

She did, getting most all of her body out before they both heard a crack. Beca winced, looking up at Chloe out of one eye, and Chloe’s jaw fell open. 

“Did you just–?” 

Beca closed both of her eyes, squinching her nose and nodding. “Yeah, we’re buying this cupboard, Chlo.” 

“Shit,” Chloe said, examining the piece as Beca stood up, brushing paint chips and dust off her clothes. The back of the cupboard had a giant hole in the back, the size of Beca’s foot. 

“At least I’m tiny and therefore have feet proportional to my body?” Beca said from around the cupboard. Chloe glared at her, lips pursed. 

“You’re paying for this,” she said, “And fixing it.” 

“Not a problem,” Beca said quickly, hands up. She linked her arms with Chloe’s and they started to try to find an employee they could talk to. Beca rested her head on Chloe’s shoulder, sinking into her in an attempt to apologize. “You said you wanted to make a house with memories,” she said, and Chloe swatted at her. 

“I hate you sometimes,” she said. Beca nuzzled her shoulder. 

“Yeah, well, you’re the one that dragged me here."


	112. The One With Hey There Delilah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think the song "Hey there Delilah" is perfect for a Bechloe Ff. Like after their Graduation Emily invite them all to come back to Barden and they make an bonfire. And Beca wants to finally tell Chloe that she loves her through the song and plays it on the guitar. Chloe moved to NY, just like in the Song. Pleased do me the favor !!! :) — sent by anonymous

“I have this song, um,” Beca blushes, reaching behind the lawn chair she’s sitting in to take out her guitar. It’s wooden, old and battered despite the care Beca puts into every object that is capable of making music. She tunes it, her hands shaking, and the girls all exchange looks. “Don’t laugh at me.” They’ve grown in the past four years, changing hair colors and letting their faces fall with time. But, gathered around the bonfire again, there’s a familiarity to it all that’s comfortable. Easy. And Beca leans into that when she starts, her eyes geared on her fingers so that in the first few notes she slips. When she starts singing, her eyes grow focused. Geared towards the girl across the fire. 

> _Hey there, Delilah_  
>  What’s it like in New York City?  
> I’m a thousand miles away  
> But girl, tonight you look so pretty  
> Yes you do  
> Times Square can’t shine as bright as you  
> I swear it’s true

_“New York, huh?” They were sitting in the car in front of the airport terminal, neither person ready or willing to get out.  
_

_“Yeah,” Chloe said, her voice shaky. “New York.”  
_

_“I hear it’s, like, pretty in the winter.”  
_

_Beca left out the part where she knew it would be prettier now. Painted red, dipped in blue._

> Hey there, Delilah  
> Don’t you worry about the distance  
> I’m right there if you get lonely  
> Give this song another listen  
> Close your eyes  
> Listen to my voice, it’s my disguise  
> I’m by your side

“ _Give me five seconds Chlo,” Beca shouted from the bathroom, racing across Chloe’s webcam in a towel to get to her closet and change. “I thought I had enough time to shower before you called.”_

_“You did,” Chloe said with a giggle. Beca’s back was still visible on her screen. “But I was lonely and wanted to hear your voice.”_

_Beca changed, leaning over her computer to see Chloe. “I missed you too, nerd.”_

_And it was that smile, that smile that made Beca feel like throwing out her perpetual summer for a winter with Chloe. That smile that made her jealous of city that got to hear Chloe show sing daily._

> __  
> Oh it’s what you do to me  
>  Oh it’s what you do to me  
> Oh it’s what you do to me  
> Oh it’s what you do to me  
> What you do to me  
>   
> Hey there, Delilah  
> I know times are getting hard  
> But just believe me, girl  
> Someday I’ll pay the bills with this guitar  
> We’ll have it good  
> We’ll have the life we knew we would  
> My word is good

“ _You’re going to be okay.” She turned her alarm off two hours early, slipping off the edge of her bed and moving to sit on the floor. “You’re going to be alright.”_

_“I don’t understand,” Chloe said through the phone. The static of their distance crackled with her breathing. “It’s just…Beca, it’s not what I thought it would be.”_

_“I know.”_

_“Is it that way for you?”_

_Beca wiggled her pinky in the outlet near her bed._

_“Yeah. But it’s going to be okay.”_

> Hey there, Delilah  
> I’ve got so much left to say  
> If every simple song I wrote to you  
> Would take your breath away  
> I’d write it all  
> Even more in love with me you’d fall  
> We’d have it all

“ _You’re on the freakin’ radio, Becs!”_

_She screamed it into her phone camera, ignoring the taxi driver’s mumbles. Beca wished she could replay the video more than once, watching the way Chloe’s eyes lit up with pride._

_She wanted to tell her that she wrote the song that Chloe danced to for her. That the upbeats and downbeats were inspired by Chloe’s breaths, and that the melody matched the tempo of her laugh. She wanted to tell her that, but she decided to just send a picture of her shoes back instead._

>   
>  Oh it’s what you do to me  
> Oh it’s what you do to me  
> Oh it’s what you do to me  
> Oh it’s what you do to me  
>   
> A thousand miles seems pretty far  
> But they’ve got planes and trains and cars  
> I’d walk to you if I had no other way  
> Our friends would all make fun of us  
> and we’ll just laugh along because we know  
> That none of them have felt this way  
> Delilah, I can promise you  
> That by the time that we get through  
> The world will never ever be the same  
> And you’re to blame

“ _You look good, Becs.”_

_They stood in the airport where they said goodbye for years ago, fiddling with their hands until Chloe shook her head, throwing Beca into a hug._

_“Yeah, you too,” Beca said between suffocated breaths. Chloe laughed into her neck, and she smelled the same as she always did. Like sunscreen and oranges.  
_

_She wanted to tell Chloe that she could pick a place on the departure board. That they could go anywhere, and it would start with a blind point of her finger. But she just held Chloe closer for a second before letting go, heading to the rental car they got for the weekend._

> Hey there, Delilah  
> You be good and don’t you miss me  
> Two more years and you’ll be done with school  
> And I’ll be making history like I do  
> You’ll know it’s all because of you  
> We can do whatever we want to  
> Hey there, Delilah, here’s to you  
> This one’s for you  
>   
> Oh it’s what you do to me  
> Oh it’s what you do to me  
> Oh it’s what you do to me  
> Oh it’s what you do to me  
> What you do to me.

“That’s it,” she says, putting down her guitar and pushing her hair back into a messy bun. She shrugs, refusing to look at the girl she stared at over the entirety of the song. There’s silence, all the Bellas biting their lips and glancing between the two of them, and Beca thinks that the crackling of the fire is the loudest sound she’s ever heard. And then there’s Chloe, reaching out for her, leaning over chairs to hold Beca’s hand, to hold her face, to lean her closer and push her chin up. 

“Visit me,” she said before pressing her lips to Beca’s, “In New York City, and I’ll show you what it’s like.” 


	113. The One With the Dishwasher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you write a fic with angry!Chloe? — sent by anonymous

Beca couldn’t tell, but she  _felt_ like the woman doing the dishwasher was slightly more pent up than usual. Finding out, of course, meant getting up and out of bed, and seeing as she had twenty-two more minutes left until her alarm woke her up, she wasn’t too interested in checking. 

That is, until she heard a squeak of pain, followed by a clatter louder than the entire clean-dish-removal project that someone with the quiet skills of an overweight elephant decided to take on. The rest of the house was still asleep - the only two people who had 8ams were Chloe and Beca, which made for a few minutes of quiet time with her favorite redhead before the day started. 

Beca slipped out of bed, growing concerned when she noticed the silence that fell over the kitchen as soon as the clattering stopped. 

“Chlo?” she said when she reached the foot of the steps, rubbing her eyes. Chloe was holding her hand over the sink, cursing under her breath. “Chloe? Shit, are you okay?” 

“Fine,” Chloe hissed, and Beca stepped back. She was still in her pajamas, a full mug of coffee sitting on the counter. Her hair was unbrushed - universal code in the Bella household for “Do not mess with Chloe”. Her hair tended to have a direct correlation to her mood, and Beca had three and a half years to study this truth. 

Still, despite her better judgments, she stepped forward again, cautiously. 

“Chloe,” she said slowly. When she was behind Chloe, she noticed blood streaming down the sink. “Fuck, you’re bleeding, Chlo, what the hell happened?” 

Chloe took a long, deep breath through her nose. “Nothing,” she said, though the tone was chilly and filled with fake lightness. When Beca put a hand on her shoulder, she immediately shrugged out of it. Wrapping her finger in paper towel, she scooped the broken bits of a plate into the trash can. 

“I know you’re angry,” Beca said with the same slowness she’d practiced before, “But I think you should tell me why.” 

“Oh you do, do you,” Chloe shot back, her back turned towards Beca. 

“Yeah,” Beca breathed out, hoping onto the counter. “Cuz if it’s some shit I did - and it normally is - then I’ll apologize and we can get over it.” 

“Get over it?  _Get over it?!”_ Chloe was near shouting. Chloe’s mug of coffee was halfway to Beca’s lips but she put it down when she saw the fire in Chloe’s eyes. “I can’t get  _over_ the fact that you’re going to die, Beca!”

Beca blinked, shaking her head to gain some understanding. “Okay…wh-what?” 

“You!” she said by way of explanation. Beca stuck her chin out, asking for more, so Chloe reached into the trash and pulled out a family-sized pack of Doritos. After that, she searched the can and slammed eight different bottles of Red Bull on the counter. “Look at this.” 

“Yes, our trash,” Beca said, nodding carefully. “Chlo, I don’t–” 

“ _Your_ trash, Beca.  _YOUR_ trash.” 

Her hand was on the counter, and she was tapping her foot like a disappointed mother. Beca pinched her nose, looking up. 

“Okay, Chloe, I’m really really sorry but I need your help here.” 

“When was the last time you ate something green,” Chloe said, moving forward. “ _Naturally_ green?” 

“I dunno.” 

“That’s it,” she said, “You’re killing yourself. Slowly, but it’s still happening. Did you know that heart disease is the number one killer of Americans?” 

“Really? That seems like it’s not the correct statistic…”

“It doesn’t matter!” Chloe was definitely shouting now, the muscles in her neck flexing. She ran her hands through her hair before continuing. “You promised you’d cut this shit out! And here you are, binging on fatty foods like you’re some twelve year old professional video game player!” 

Beca opened her mouth to speak, but Chloe held her finger out. “Don’t you  _dare_ make a sarcastic comment, Beca Mitchell.” 

And there’s a thing about Chloe Beale that people rarely talked about. Because everyone knew her look of feigned innocence. And everyone knew her look of total excitement. Anyone who ever met Chloe was an expert on her facial expressions. But no one ever talked about the light of fire in her eyes when she reached a certain level of anger. It was enough to make you want to put yourself in time-out, and somewhere in Beca’s mind, before she feared for the lives of herself and the vocal-cord eating wolves somewhere, she thought of how great of a mother Chloe Beale would be as the result of this look. Then, she gulped and realized that as the recipient of this look, ogling about Chloe’s prospective future wasn’t exactly the wisest thing to do with her brain. 

“I want you to  _live_ Beca,” she said, her voice cracking as she tried to keep her volume up. “I want you to live a long and happy and  _healthy_ life, and since your mother didn’t give you the good sense to learn how to eat a  _salad_ every once in a while, then I will make it my  _duty_ to do so. Do you hear me?” 

“The whole house hears you,” Beca said under her breath, earning another glare from Chloe. She was nearly nose-to-nose with Beca now, and while normally this was not something Beca complained about, today it instilled a  _very_ different feeling in her. “Okay, okay. Yes. I hear you.” 

“Good,” Chloe said, turning away. Her voice was a chirp, somehow losing all it’s edge in one second. “So we understand eachother. You’ll start eating what I put on your plate, no matter what. And that starts with,” she turned around to face Beca again, a green drink in her hand, “the Beale Morning Juice.” 

“Chloe, that shit’s not fit for human consumption,” Beca said, taking the juice and wincing when she sniffed it and smelled asparagus. 

Chloe momentarily let the stiffness and the fire back into her bloodstream. “ _What_ was that?” 

“Nothing,” Beca said quickly, taking a large gulp of the drink before realizing herself. She gagged as she tried to force it down, and Chloe grinned victoriously. 

“That’s exactly what I thought,” she said, finishing the dishes, “Now I’m going to get this bandaged. You, drink up.” 


	114. The One Where Aubrey Twists Chloe's Arm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca accidentally broke her wrist in one of the Bella rehearsal and surprisingly Aubrey helped her because Aubrey can sense Chloe likes Beca and she just knows which button to push for Chloe to finally admit it to Aubrey — sent by anonymous

“No no if you twis–FUCK,” Beca pulled her hand back like a wounded animal, looking up at Aubrey with a combination of hurt and angry eyes, “God that fucking hurt. Fuck me, Jesus.” 

“Not on my list of to-do’s, actually,” Aubrey chirped, reaching out for the wrist again. “Come on, Beca, give me your wrist. Someone’s gotta check it out before we go to the emergency room.” 

“The emergency room?!” Beca groaned. “We don’t have to…that’s really not…I’m totally fi-FUCK GOD AUBREY STOP DOING THAT.”

“Sorry,” Aubrey said, and it sounded genuine. “I just needed to prove that you needed to go to the hospital.” 

“You couldn’t have just pointed out how swollen it is?” 

“It takes more than that to disprove a fear,” Aubrey said with a hum. She turned to the lunch bag that she brought to every rehearsal, taking out an ice bag from it. “Also, you’re absolutely impossible to deal with when injured.” 

“And you’re absolutely impossible to deal with…almost all the time,” Beca said, ending with a hiss when Aubrey put the ice pack over the bruised wrist. “I don’t know why you’re being nice to me.” 

Aubrey sighed. She tried to position the ice pack to sit on Beca’s wrist, occupying herself with that before looking at the girl. “Because while I don’t like your attitude, some people I know do. And those people are important to me. So…I’m responsible for treating the people that are important to them well.” 

“That sounds like bullshit,” Beca muttered, pulling her wrist away for the final time. She was looking up at Aubrey suspiciously, and Aubrey felt of surge of both annoyance and affection. Because while Beca’s permanent questioning of any kindness in Aubrey’s demeanor was infuriating, there was something adorably vulnerable to this girl’s situation and the way she was a bit like a kid trying to determine if Santa was real. 

“I can assure you, it’s not,” Aubrey said, throwing out a smile for good measure. Beca blanched at it, which made Aubrey change her smile to a face with her tongue sticking out. She swore she saw a smile out of the corner of Beca’s lips. 

“Well thank you,” she said, wiping away her grin, “Whatever the reason.”

Aubrey nodded, zipping up her lunch bag. “Stacie’s going to pick you up to take you to the hospital once she’s done ‘de-sweating’ herself. She practically begged me. Something about doctors and on-call rooms.” 

Beca nodded slowly, looking away. “Well, yeah, so…I can just wait here if you…” 

“Stace is outside, Becs,” Chloe came in through the back doors, breathless and still in her rehearsal outfits. “She says her hair can only be perfect for so long, so hurry your ‘tiny cute ass’.” 

“Her words or yours, Beale?” Beca said, raising an eyebrow. Chloe, never the one to blush, just rolled her eyes and poked her tongue into her cheek. 

“Just get going, goof,” she said, but when Beca stood up, her tone changed. “You sure you don’t want me there?” 

“To see me wimping out? Not a chance,” she said with a shaky breath. “I’m fine, anyway. Posen cleaned me up.” 

“Bree?” Chloe blinked, looking around Beca to notice Aubrey for the first time since entering the room. “You, uh, you helped Beca?”

“I’m not Satan, you guys,” Aubrey said, crossing her legs. “Kindness isn’t completely beyond me.”

“No, I know that, duh,” Chloe said quickly, “It’s just…um,” she glanced at Beca, smiling, “You should go, Becs.” 

“Right, yes, leaving now,” Beca said, headed towards the door. 

“You’ll be fine,” Chloe shouted to her. Beca responded with the friendliest middle finger she could give, smiling when she heard Chloe laugh at it before pushing the doors open to meet Stacie. 

“So you  _helped_ Beca,” Chloe said, sitting next to Aubrey. “Bad girl Beca with an attitude that fits her love for black.” 

“Shush,” Aubrey said, fiddling with the zipper on her lunch bag, “I have my reasons.” 

“Master manipulation? Keep your friends close and enemies closer?” 

Aubrey shot Chloe a pointed glare, and Chloe backed down. “Sorry. What, uh, what reasons?” 

“I respect the people my friends like,” Aubrey said simply, shrugging. “It’s friend code basics. Respect the people your friends like.” 

Chloe nodded slowly, looking around the room. She felt Aubrey’s gaze on her, though, and met it, questioning. “Oh!” she said finally, “Oh! You mean me!” 

“Yes, I mean you!” Aubrey said, exasperated. Chloe giggled at Aubrey’s frustrations, poking her lightly in the side when Aubrey shot another glare her way. 

“That’s adorable,” Chloe said, “And entirely too sweet. And you might be the best friend ever, Aubrey Posen.” 

A twitch of a smile rose on Aubrey’s face. She looked at Chloe out of the corner of her eye, and Chloe recognized the look of victory on her face. 

“Best friend? Yes,” Aubrey said, picking an invisible piece of lint, “Master-mind? Yes again.” 

“What?” 

“You like Beca,” she said proudly, hands on the desk in front of her. 

“What?!” It was the same question as before, but infinitely more high-pitched and, as a result, much weaker in it’s certainty. The crack in it made Aubrey grin more. 

“You admitted it,” she said, holding a finger up, “You admitted it just now to me, so no take backs.” 

Chloe opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again. She sighed. “Fine. Yes. You’re right.” 

“I know I am,” Aubrey said. She crossed her arms. “Because I’m always right.” 

Chloe bit her lip, turning in her chair so they were both looking forward. “That’s true.” 


	115. The One With Honey I'm Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: All throughout their years in college and sharing an apartment as friends Beca would jokingly yells the phrase "Honey I'm home" when Chloe is there (kinda heartbreaking if you think about Becca saying that when she and Chloe just had a fight and Chloe stayed at her boyfriend's place and Becca drunkenly enters the room and still says it, thinking it's a unrequited love) anyway back to fluff, last part is when they finally have kids Beca says it and finally Chloe says "welcome home" — sent by anonymous

It started not long after they’d met. Together, they were both lukewarm and on fire - maintaining a strange level of comfort for two people still unfamiliar to each other. Beca was lost inside a mix, avoiding the finals that she had the next day, and Chloe barged in without warning, bags of groceries, pots, and pans to shout, “Honeyyyyy, I’m hommmeeee.” 

That night she forced Beca out of the room to go to the kitchen on the third floor and make spaghetti. They burnt the noodles, somehow, but Chloe had wine and the sauce tasted good with chips anyway. It was the night that Beca told Chloe the story of her second grade spelling bee, and Chloe told Beca about her vacation house in Florida. 

From then on, it became a sort of tradition. Walking into dorm rooms or acapella houses, from any time between four and midnight, Beca would sigh and take off her coat, mimicking that earlier version of Chloe when she said, “Honey, I’m home.”  

Chloe’s favorite were when Beca was just drunk enough to try to push the “home” into a high note, stumbling slightly over the heels she insisted she wear to seem taller around the other girls. 

“Who’re you talking to?” she’d said after one night they went out together. She peeled Beca’s arm from where it leaned against the door, and Beca giggled. “Because if you’ve got another honey in this house, Becs…”

“Mmmm, jealous are we?” Beca said with a smirk, closing the door. “But we’re good. The wife, yunno, keeps me on a tight leash.” 

Of course, not long after that night, the jokes became more real - enough to make even Chloe blush though she couldn’t at first identify the reason behind that. So the “Honey, I’m home” bit grew to be Chloe’s best part of her day - and the fact that it was the best part of her day grew to be the worst part of her day. Because she was not Beca’s honey, not even a little bit. She was Beca’s friend. And occasional, situational, hypothetical wife. 

After a particularly bad fight about something that, years later, neither Chloe nor Beca could properly identify, Beca stumbled through the door, drunk off the cheap liquor that she managed to steal from Jessie’s fridge. He had looked at her from the side of his eyes when she drank, already frustrated that his “let’s talk” was being quickly derailed by an argument with Chloe (exactly the girl he wanted to talk about) and entirely too much alcohol for such a small body. She sang it then, giggling halfway through it and pressing her forehead to the door. It was different, the new apartment they bought after Barden, but the floor spun the same way when Beca had too much to drink, so she closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable response. The running from across the hall to tell her about the day she had, or the shout from the “living room” that a certain show was on. Possibly a description of where dinner was. 

Instead, there was silence. On the fridge a note: “Staying at Chad’s.” 

And it hurt Beca more than she cared to admit, so she blamed the tears on the alcohol and the headache of guilt that followed for a week afterwards, when Chloe was still stiff and unthawed, was just a well-deserved hangover. 

There were nights like that - whether Chloe intended them to hurt or not. Nights were Chloe stayed late at the school for parent-teacher conferences, or when she had to have dinner with her parents. And each time they hurt Beca, drowning the rest of her night in this hollow sadness that she couldn’t quite explain. 

Which was why she learned to love the nights when she walked into the new place after work, stomping up the steps of the porch where she almost banged her head on the wind chime project that Chloe had started with the girls. She opened the door to a full kitchen that smelled vaguely of garlic and onions (no matter what Chloe was cooking) and a little girl at the table coloring. The news would be on in the corner counter, while in the other room, the babies were watching Sesame Street and cooing along to the music. 

“Honey,” she said, brushing off the weight of an all-too-angsty new singer she’d signed, “I’m home.” 

Chloe looked up from the pot she was stirring, throwing her washcloth over her shoulder. She’d blow a strand of hair off her face, her work blouse sleeves rolled up, and she’d smile wide. 

“Welcome home,” she said, planting a kiss to Beca’s cheek. “How was your day, Babe?” 

Yes. 

Those. 

Those were the nights she loved the tradition the most. 


	116. The One With Chloe's Nephew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca has to babysit Chloe's nephew while Chloe is at work. Bonus points for awkwardness. — sent by anonymous

“You’re hot.” 

They were sitting on the couch, watching some throw-away movie that Chloe popped in before racing off to work. The substitute teacher had some nervous breakdown, prompting Chloe to have to swoop in to save the day yet again despite her calling vacation time for the week her twelve year old nephew came to visit. 

Halfway through biting a chip, Beca paused, eyes bugging slightly. “Wh-what?” 

The kid hadn’t said anything the entire night before during their first dinner all together, and made his way through the morning with various grunts and mutters that, for the most part, Beca could only comprehend because she, too, preferred to communicate that way.

“You’re hot,” he repeated, shrugging and never once taking his eyes off the tv. “Dad thinks so too.” 

“Okay,” Beca said quickly, slapping her legs and standing up. She spun around quickly, then turned back, uncertain of what she was getting up to do. She had her index finger out, but only because it felt like the right thing to do - not because she had any idea of what to do with it. “Um,” she said, sitting back down awkwardly, “Thank you. I guess. But also. Um. No.” 

The boy didn’t respond, blinking the shaggy hair out of his eyes and leaning forward to marvel at the gory horror scene happening on screen. Beca fiddled with her fingers nervously as the movie played out, bouncing her phone around in her hands and waiting for the call from Chloe that said she was on her way back home. 

When the credits rolled over the screen, the two sat in total silence. 

“So,” Beca said slowly, “What do you wanna do now?” 

“If I give you five bucks can I touch your boob?”

“What the fuck, kid,” Beca said, standing up. The boy was laughing, his hand over his mouth. 

“Whoa,” he said, holding up his hands, “Chill. Dad gave me twenty dollars to ask you that.” 

“Your dad’s an asshole,” Beca said, breathless and anxious and constantly keeping one eye on the door for Chloe to come home. 

“And your future brother-in-law,” the boy pointed out, leaning back on the couch. “So if you want me to erase what you just said, you’re gonna have to pay up too.” 

“What’re you, the Monopoly Man?” Beca said. 

“I’m simply a kid,” he said, his hands on his knees, “Looking for people who want to…make investments. A kid who wants to help out his future Auntie Beca get in good with the family.” 

Beca winced, glaring at him before sitting back down on the couch. “One, it’s not Auntie Beca, for the love of all things that are holy. Two,” she leaned over, taking a dollar bill out of her pocket and trying to straighten it out on her knee, “You get one buck, and maybe I won’t tell your aunt that you asked to touch her girlfriend’s boobs.” 

“That’s not fair, Mitchell,” the kid said. His mouth was open and his eyebrows were furrowed. “You know why I said it now!” 

“Yeah, but she doesn’t,” Beca said, smiling. “And trust me on this one: your aunt is one jealous chick.” 

Grumbling, the little boy held out his hand, waiting for Beca to take it. “You play a good game, Beca Mitchell,” he said when she shook it, “Welcome to the goddamn family.” 

Then, he pulled her closer. “Dad does think you’re hot though.” 

He finished with the trademark Beale wink, and Beca pulled her hand back immediately, wincing. “Gross.” 

“I know.” 

 


	117. The One With Wedding Dress Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca, Chloe, and the Bellas go wedding dress shopping. P.S. You're the best human everrrrrrrr — sent by anonymous

To say that Beca Mitchell wasn’t a fan of shopping was an understatement. Shopping, actually, was the one activity that Beca imagined the caverns and mountains of hell were filled with. Aside from the one time Chloe forced her to go to the mall with Aubrey for “best friend, girl friend bonding”, Beca hadn’t been to a mall since her dad dragged her before Christmas when she was thirteen. The stores were crowded, loud, and overcompensating for having flimsy, poorly made clothes. The food court allowed for entirely too many uncomfortable social meet-ups, and Beca hated the way she felt like she needed to have a group of five or six girls by her side to be considered even halfway normal in the building. So, generally, she avoided the mall with every fiber of her being, sticking by the coin fountain for hours if she needed to while Chloe Christmas shopped for every niece and nephew she had running around her mind. 

So, although Chloe woke up humming a country song and already smelling like smiles and cinnamon, Beca refused to open her eyes and fully accept that today was the dreaded day. The day they looked for dresses. 

Because if Beca hated shopping, she utterly despised  _dress_ shopping. And wearing white. And fawning….the worst of it all, probably, was the fawning that would occur - the squeals and shouts and primping and messing. 

“It’s not going to be that bad,” Chloe hummed from over her coffee cup when she noticed the grimace to Beca’s face. “You’re gonna find something you love.” 

“Yeah, and how do you know that?” 

“Well,” Chloe said, putting her mug down and smiling, “Because you have a tendency of falling in love with things only after dreading them for a good long while. It’s a pattern.” 

“A pattern?” Beca said, eyebrows raised, “Why I haven’t a clue what you’re talkin’ about.” 

“Ew,” Chloe giggled. She stood up, taking Beca’s plate and her own and walking to the sink. “You were right, no more old movies for a while.” 

“No complaints here,” Beca said easily. Chloe tutted, dumping the extra breakfast food into the trash. 

“Ready, Freddie?” 

Beca squinched her nose, grunting. It made Chloe smile, walking towards her slowly and lifting her chin up. 

“It’s going to be okay,” she said in a whisper, pressing her lips against Beca’s. “It’s going to be wonderful.” 

“And you’re sticking with the no shared dressing room rule?” 

Chloe laughed, her forehead against Beca’s. “Bad luck to see me in my dress,” she said simply, taking a breath before stepping back. “Now let’s hit the road, we’re gonna be late.” 

 

Chloe didn’t tell Beca where they were headed, and Beca assumed it was because every bridal shop had the same pun-tastic wedding name that she would never be able to identify with a specific storefront. Only, Chloe spent more than half the carride asking Beca if she was at all curious as to which store they were going to, grinning wildly when they didn’t get off the freeway at the mall’s exit but keeping her lips sealed as to why. 

So…it quickly became apparent that there was something special about this particular store, and Beca was already straining herself by going, so she hoped above all else that the surprises were kept to a safe and certain minimum. 

When they stopped suddenly to turn down a side street, pulling into a parking lot of a shack-like building that was painted in light blue, Chloe could hardly contain her excitement. She turned down the music she’d been blasting, biting her lip in the way that she did when she expected something great to happen. 

“What’s this? Granny’s house?” Beca tapped her nail against the window, looking at the windchimes that adorned the front porch. 

“Close, but no cigar,” Chloe said, putting the car in Park. “You hate malls.” 

“I do,” Beca said slowly. 

“Because they make you anxious. And dresses make you anxious. And store people make you anxious. So I looked everywhere for a good place,” she said, “Because wedding dress shopping is an experience, Becs, and I’ve promised that you’re not missing out on an ounce of experience in our life together. So I found this on, like, the thirty fifth page of the search result.” 

“Promising,” Beca quipped, and Chloe lightly slapped her arm. “Sorry. You’re cute. Keep going.” 

“I think it’s perfect, Becs. So just give it a chance,” she ran her hand over Beca’s knuckles, “For me, Babes.” 

“Yeah,” Beca sighed, nodding determinedly. “For you.” 

When they walked in, bells chimed with the door’s opening and closing but no one came to greet them. The inside was less like a store and more like a living room, couches lining the walls. On the radio was one of Beca’s favorite songs from long drives shortly after she got her license, something from the forties that had just enough of a beat to dance to. 

“Coming, coming, coming,” they heard from down the hall, stomping following quickly after. Down the steps, they saw orthopedic shoes, followed by poorly colored hosiery and the outline of a floral dress. The woman couldn’t have been taller than Beca’s shoulders, which gave her the rare opportunity of looking down on someone. It should’ve put her at ease, but the woman wore glasses thicker than Chloe’s reading glasses (which was surprising, really) and her eyes were blown up three times their normal size. 

“I’m never ready on time,” the woman explained, rummaging through the papers on her desk. Chloe glanced at Beca, squeezing her hand and winking. She had a thing for the adorableness of old people - like how Beca responded to puppies that were walking in the park behind their house. “Fuck me,” the woman said then, opening the bottom drawer of her desk, “I always forget that damn paperwork.” 

The words surprised both Beca and Chloe enough for them to have to stifle their laughs. She was such a small, sweet old lady that the swears seemed so wrong and still so right in her mouth. Instantly, in a weird way that Beca couldn’t fully define, she felt more comfortable. Even if Chloe was put less at ease. 

“I would apologize for my language,” the woman explained, meeting their eyes, “But this is my fucking store, so…I don’t really have to, do I?” 

“No ma’am,” Chloe said, holding her hand up. The woman tutted, leaving the desk to get closer to them. 

“Who’re you calling ma’am? Makes me sound old,” the woman joked, her mouth open for a silent laugh. She held her hand out, “I’m Mary Ellen, and there’s alcohol in the back for this one,” she pointed to Beca when she was done shaking Chloe’s hand, “Who’s looked like she was going to pass out the minute she entered the room.” 

Beca smiled sweetly, shifting the weight of her body on her feet. 

“Go!” the woman said, holding her hands up, “Treat yourself! I’m gonna take this redhead in the back - oh my that’s not the first time I’ve said that…” she stopped to wink, making Chloe actually guffaw at Beca’s reaction, “No, I’m going to take your girl and find her a dress, so you make yourself comfortable and loosin’ up with a bit of help…I beg of you.” 

Beca nodded, looking at Chloe for approval. “O-okay,” she said slowly, backing down the hallway to the kitchen that the woman pointed at, “Have fun?” 

Chloe threw her one last enthusiastic smile before turning towards the woman and beginning a spirited conversation. Beca heard her, but the words all went over her head - hemlines and fabric compositions and waist sizes….all beyond her capacity for understanding. There were muffins on the stove and mimosas on a tray next to them, though on the ground was a cooler of beer. “For any brides of the nice, cold brew persuasion” said the notecard on the side of the cooler. Beca took one out, wiping off the chilled water and cracking it open. Whenever she nervously glanced down the hall, she would see a spot of red hair and white dress before one of the two women would spin around and yell at her for sneaking peeks. Still, it took nearly an hour for her to be seen, and she had to stop herself after the first beer for fear that she’d embarrass her wife-to-be. 

Chloe walked into the kitchen almost skipping, kissing Beca on the temple before heading straight to the muffins. 

“Find something you like?” Beca said, unable to help the smile that spread over her face. 

“You’ll see,” Chloe said slowly, smiling widely and almost giggling into the muffin that she was biting into. “Your turn,” she said over muffled bites. Beca sighed loudly, pulling the chair back and walking down the hall with measured breaths. Mary Ellen was waiting at the other end, tapping a pencil against the desk. 

“So, no tux,” the woman started simply. Beca nodded. 

“No tux.” 

“And, because nudity is frowned upon, I’m assuming we’re thinking dresses?” 

Beca sighed, wincing. “Unfortunately, yes.” When she opened her eyes, the woman was reaching out for her wrists, taking her hands and squeezing them lightly. 

“We’ll find something,” she said. Though it was a different tone than Chloe’s, it held the same confidence and conviction. Looking at the woman’s cartoon eyes, Beca found herself believing her. “You’re going to be a beautiful bride.” 

Then, she ran off, skitting over to the closet in the back room and starting to pull at hangers. She slowed down, stopping at one and considering it. Beca stood there, watching, her hands fiddling nervously the entire time. She hadn’t noticed that her mouth was dry, but once she became aware, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Finally, the woman pulled out the dress she was considering, holding it up. Beca couldn’t make out the details of it, as it was wrapped in plastic and shining, but she took it easily. 

“Try it on,” the woman said, pointing to the restroom, “Just give it a go.” 

Beca dressed and undressed in a haze, not really bothering to glance at the dress out of fear and twisting to zip it up without once looking in the mirror. She noticed, first, that she could breathe - an important requirement for a girl infamously afraid of commitment on her wedding day. She could also walk, though it was more of a struggle, admittedly. When she walked into the living room, the woman’s mouth dropped. 

“Oh honey,” she said, and Beca couldn’t help the way she felt like she’d just been fed a chocolate chip cookie. “Look, look, look.” 

Beca stopped at the full-length mirror, inspecting. The dress was simple - as simple as it could get, really, though the sleeves were lace and cut so that they hung a bit from Beca’s wrists. The lace wrapped around her back and the cut-outs on the side of the dress so that the bodice almost made a heart-shape that accentuated her chest and streamlined her tiny waist. The skirt didn’t fan out, but it didn’t lie flat against her either, maintaining a perfectly respectable amount of volume. It looked vintage, retro-even, while remaining modern. If Chloe were there, she’d called it a classic. 

“Shit,” she said under her breath, running her hands over the front, “Shit.” 

The woman behind her chuckled. “That’s pretty much what I said, kid.” 

Beca looked down at the woman, who was smiling - all gums and hardly any teeth. Mary Ellen just nodded, pressing a hand against Beca’s back. “Was my dress, back in the day,” she explained, “I’m not much of a dancer, but I was that night. So…it’s broken in, that’s for sure.” 

Beca raised her eyebrows. “Oh, no, I couldn’t…it’s…your dress? I couldn’t take that I just–” 

“Relax, chickie,” Mary Ellen said, “I confess I was married three more times, so it’s not like tradition and sentiment are my cup of tea. Besides, you look good.” 

The woman whistled, and Beca swore she could hear Chloe laugh from the kitchen. 

“I hope you’ll take it as a compliment when I say you’ll be the second most beautiful girl at the wedding,” she said at Beca’s side. Beca laughed lightly, realizing that it was genuine and almost stopping out of confusion. Because she was laughing. And. Dress. Shopping. 

“I’d be offended if you said anything differently.” 

 


	118. The One With the Hickey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fic prompt; all the Bella's are tormenting Chloe about beca and when beca comes in she has a hickey on her neck and it's from chloe — sent by anonymous

“Nothing is going on!” Chloe dropped the sheet music on the kitchen counter, pressing her palms onto the granite to soak up the cold in hopes that it would lessen her blush somehow. 

“Mmmmhhhmmm,” CR said, slipping between Chloe and the fridge, “That’s exactly what I said to my mom when me and my ‘best friend’ had sleepover’s every night in high school.” 

“Same,” Stacie said, hopping onto the counter. CR raised her eyebrows at that, to which Stacie just responded with a casual shrug of her shoulders. 

“Look,” Amy said seriously, leaning closer to Chloe, “As her roommate, I just request that I am given a five minute warning and an approximate time period. And I need to know if sound-proof headphones work or if that node situation didn’t translate to the bedroom.” 

Chloe winced, pulled her head away from where Amy had leaned close to it. “No, Amy that’s –” 

“To be fair, the whole house should be informed,” Stacie intervened, pointing at Amy and agreeing. 

“Yeah, cuz I don’t have the money for noise-cancelling headphones, yunno,” CR said, “It’s only fair that we’re reimbursed for that shit.” 

“Guys!” Chloe said, throwing her hands up, “We’re not…that’s not…There’s not…” 

“Oh my God, I thought we were  _past_ the denial,” Stacie groaned, slipping off the counter. 

“Yeah, Chloe, you look at her like I look at the Wiggles,” Amy said, winking before staring at the wall. She had a dreamy look on her face that forced Chloe and the other girl’s to look away. 

“I think it’s romantic,” Emily said, finally finding a chance to pipe in. “You guys are so High School Musical.” 

“Yeah, if Troy ever got the balls to bang her,” Stacie said, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, singing about sex is great but…” she trailed off, looking at Chloe with a knowing look in her eye, “Chloe knows what I’m talking about.” 

Chloe blushed more, trying to cover it up with her hands while shaking her head. “I don’t,” she said quickly, blurting it out, “I totally don’t, I…”

CR put a hand on her shoulder, looking her in the eyes. “When you’re ready,” she said seriously, “We’ll be here to tell you we knew all along and you weren’t fooling any of us.” 

Chloe rolled her eyes, sipping from her yellow cup. “Whatever,” she said, knowing it was the weakest argument she could provide. The other girls noticed it too, and Emily excitedly sang, “That’s not a deniaaaaaaal.” 

Just as Chloe was about to say some equally vague statement to throw them off her trail, Beca came stomping down the steps. It was nearly noon, but no one was too surprised by Beca’s sleeping habits. From the doorway, Beca could only see Chloe at the counter, and she grinned, letting out a “Heyyyy, Chlo,” before stopping suddenly and noticing everyone else in the room. She hadn’t bothered to brush her hair since she woke up, and she was wearing Chloe’s shirt (a hot pink tank top that said “Redheads have more fun”) - though that wasn’t the slightest bit unusual. “And friends,” she added, not noticing the smirks of the other Bellas as she turned around to get coffee. Chloe watched the girls suspiciously out of the corner of her eye. 

“What now,” she said slowly, scared. Emily snickered. 

“Hey, Beca,” CR piped up, “Have you looked in a mirror today?” 

“Har har har,” Beca said, turning around, “Bed head is a medical condition, and I don’t appreciate you mocking me for it.” 

When she was turned around, Chloe saw it, gasping. The girls all looked at her, Beca first and foremost with bugged eyes of confusion. She coughed, rubbing out an invisible knot in her neck. Stacie laughed at the feeble attempt. 

“Follow up question,” Amy said, raising her hand, “Were you mauled by claw-less wolves trying and failing to rip out your vocal cords last night?” 

Beca ran her eyes over all of them, lingering on Chloe. “No,” she said slowly, “Are you guys normally this fucking weird in the morning?” 

“I dunno,” Stacie said, shrugging again, “Do you normally let Chloe give you hickies?” 

Chloe coughed up the water she was drinking, and Beca’s jaw dropped while a hand flew to her neck. “What?” she turned to Chloe, “What?” 

Chloe reached up cautiously, running a thumb over the giant bruise that had formed there. She bit her lip, half smiling, half apologetic. “Sorry,” she said, wincing, “I didn’t know it would leave a mark.” 

“Awwww yeah,” Amy said, slapping the table. Emily jumped up, squealing until CR put a hand on her head, holding her down from bouncing. Her other hand was out, waiting for Stacie to put money in it. 

“Fuck you all,” Beca said, taking her mug. “It’s too early for this shit.” 


	119. The One With Ikea FURNITURE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe and beca trying to assemble Ikea furniture but beca is stubborn and refusing to use the instructions — sent by anonymous

“It won’t fuckin,” Beca paused to grunt, pushing the bar into the latch one more time to no avail, “It won’t fuckin’ fit.” 

Chloe stepped back, her hands on her hips. She had a strand of hair in her face that she pushed away with the back of her hand before wiping at the sweat that was forming there. “This isn’t working.” 

“No shit,” Beca muttered, her hands still on the bar as she tried to push it in still. The bar didn’t budge in the slightest, so she let go, sighing. When she extracted herself from the tangle of metal and wood, she looked down at the contraption. It resembled one of the metal jungle gyms at the playgrounds her mom took her to when she was little. Or, more accurately, a mountain of Ikea furniture limbs. 

“What Ikea gods have we insulted to make this such a fucking battle,” Beca groaned, slumping down on the air mattress they’d been using thus far since their move. She ran her hands over her face, moving to push her hair back. 

“Probably whatever god is in charge of the instructions,” Chloe said, sitting down next to her, “Because if I remember correctly, you threw them out with the box saying ‘We can figure this shit out no problem’.” 

“Yeah, because we can!” Beca said, “We’re just missing something…” She stood back up to inspect the trash heap. 

“Right!” Chloe said, “The instructions!” 

Beca bent over, shooting a middle finger in Chloe’s direction before reaching out to tug at another bar. “There’s, like, six of these,” she said absentmindedly, “I feel like there should be four?” 

Chloe sighed, standing. “The instruction booklet would tell us,” she said quietly, earning a slap. “Beca, let me just go back to the trash and find it.” 

“No chance,” Beca said between pulls, “Now I’m determined to figure it out. We’re smart, yeah?” She turned to Chloe for approval, but the redhead just stood with her arms crossed. 

“Apparently not smart enough to read the instructions,” she chirped. 

“Will,” she tugged at the bar with each word, “You. Stop. With. The. Fucking. Instructions…Fuck yeah.” The tugs were successful, pulling the one bar from it’s latch and sending Beca flipping over the pile. “Got it.” 

Chloe shook her head, bending down to where Beca was tangled in a pile of the furniture pieces. 

“I’m going to make brownies,” she said simply, “And you get to clean the bowl  _if_ you promise to look at the instructions.” 

“What the hell, Chlo,” Beca said, offended, “You think my morals can be bought with brownie batter?” 

Chloe bit the inside of her cheek, leaning closer. “Wine?” 

Beca gasped dramatically. “I should be offended.” 

Chloe leaned closer. “Your favorite dinner?” 

“Really, now you’re not even trying,” Beca said, slightly more breathless with her eyes on Chloe’s lips. 

“Well then I’m fresh out of ideas,” Chloe said with a smirk, her lips ghosting over Beca’s. She took a breath, pulling back and jumping up in one swift motion. “I couldn’t possibly provide you with something that would make you surrender to the instructions, how silly of me. I’m sorry, Beca, I really am.” 

Beca huffed at the way Chloe was smiling, her words maintaining a theatrical and knowing edge. As the redhead slipped out of the room to move to the kitchen, Beca threw her head back, sighing. 

“Chloe,” she shouted so that Chloe could hear, “Mind rummaging through the trash?” 

Chloe peeked through the doorway, biting away her smile. “Whatever you wish, my darlin’.” 

 


	120. The One Where Beca's a Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if you're currently taking prompts right now, but could you do a Bechloe oneshot where Chloe moves into a new house and meets ghost!Beca who died there in the 90s (explaining the alt thing she has going on). — sent by anonymous

“You’re supposed to be scared,” she said, covering up how insulted she was but crossing her arms and shrugging, “Or whatever.” 

Chloe, who stood with a spatula still in hand from the moving box she was unpacking before she heard the mysterious noise that led to this interaction, relaxed her attacking position. She laughed, which only offended the ghost more. 

“This is  _so_ not how it’s supposed to go, Red,” the ghost said, running her hands through her hair and plopping down on the brand new leather couch. No indent was made by her weight - or lack thereof - and Chloe marvelled at how strange that was. Something she wouldn’t have thought would make her do double-takes, but, admittedly, she never really thought she would be talking to a ghost in her new living room anyway. 

“I mean, you’re not, like, scary,” she said, putting the kitchen utensil down and sitting beside the ghost. There was a tattoo stretching over the girl’s sickly pale and slightly transparent shoulder blade. When Chloe tried to reach out to touch it, the air scattered like fog around her fingers. The ghost shivered slightly. 

“Bit touchy, doncha think?” she said, causing Chloe to pull her hand back. 

“Sorry,” Chloe said, “I just…you don’t get to touch a ghost every day.” 

“Kinky,” the ghost said under her breath, picking up one of the knick-knacks that Chloe had haphazardly put on the coffee table. “You really think I’m not scary?” 

There was a softness to her voice, and when the ghost looked at Chloe, Chloe noticed that her eyes were pitch black. What should’ve been disorienting was actually endearing, making the ghost look vulnerable somehow. And animalistic. 

“You’re kinda cute,” Chloe said, shrugging and looking away, “All angsty alt girl. What, did you die in the 90s?” 

She would’ve reached out to fondle the denim vest, but she’d learned her lesson earlier. The ghost reached up to her hair, mussying it up before straightening her clothes. She was wearing a ratty band t-shirt under the demin, and when she stretched it out, Chloe could see the logo for Nirvana. 

“Actually, yeah,” the ghost said haughtily, “Thanks for the remember of, yunno, the whole dead thing.” 

“Sorry,” Chleo said, biting her lip, “Um. I would ask how but…well, ghost conversation etiquette isn’t really a class I took in high school.” 

“Righttttt,” the ghost said, nodding slowly. She flicked a spider that was crawling over the table, but her fingers had no effect. Moving to sit cross-legged on the couch, she fiddled with her rings. “By the way, this music sucks ass.” 

“Excuse you, Shania Twain is  _prime_ moving music,” Chloe scooted away from the ghost, offended. The ghost scoffed, rolling her eyes. 

“Lemme tell you a story, Red,” she said, pulling her knees in, “Once upon a time, I didn’t haunt residents, because ew, that’s creepy, and also so totally not my game. Then, a chick moved in with  _terrible_ taste in music. And now for the first time in twenty years I’m talking to someone. In an effort to make my undead ears stop bleeding.” 

Chloe gasped, reaching to slap the girl but stopping herself when the other girl’s eyebrows raised in question. She pulled her hand back in and bit her lip. After a moment of silence, she offered up a weak, “What would you have preferred, O Haunted One?” 

“God,” the ghost said, floating up to stand with her eyes focused on the ceiling, “Anything else. Literally anything else.” 

Chloe huffed before the sound of her growling stomach overtook the conversation. The ghost grinned slightly, arms still crossed, and it all made Chloe blush. “So…food…” 

“Yeah, don’t need it,” the ghost explained, “But apparently you - and all your inferior composition - require it to live or some shit.” 

“Excuse you,” Chloe said, heading toward the kitchen, “But I believe the fact that you’re dead and I’m alive is kinda proof that I’m not the inferior one here.” 

“Mmmmm,” the ghost said. She followed Chloe into the kitchen, floating up to sit on the counter, “Tomay-to, tomah-to.” 

When Chloe closed the fridge, she inspected the girl, eyes squinted. “Are you going to stay here?” 

“Like here on the counter?” the girl said, “Cuz if sitting on the counter is an issue, then I’m not going to tell you about half the shit I do around here.” 

Chloe rolled her eyes, opening last night’s chinese food take-out. She refused to acknowledge the fake response until she got a real one. 

“You’re not, like, royally obnoxious,” the ghost said, “So I’ll stick around. Probably. I would ask permission but, yunno, I was here first.” 

“Right,” Chloe said, nodding. She wasn’t entirely positive why it all felt so natural - so completely  _un_ supernatural - to be standing there eating dinner with a ghost and talking about future plans. But she was new to the town, completely aware of how much the teachers at her elementary school hated the way she held herself, and missing everything that was the community she’d managed to build with the girls in college. It felt nice to have someone to talk to, even if they weren’t exactly, err, alive. 

Shit, she’d have to schedule a counseling appointment. And soon. 

“I’m Chloe,” she said, holding her hand out. The ghost looked at it, deciding to hold her hand out too. Together, they shook hands with an inch of open air between them. The ghost was nodding, smiling slightly, and Chloe felt warm despite the chill that radiated from the ghost. 

It was that feeling of talking to someone again. Of being around someone again. She needed it like batteries needed a charge. 

“Beca,” the ghost said, picking at the hole in her jeans. “Mitchell.” 


	121. The One With Sexual Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bechloe prompt: in the middle of their fight at camp, beca couldn't handle the sexual tension and dragged chloe somewhere private and secluded. When they come out, beca still gets trapped in the bear trap — sent by anonymous

“I,” Beca said declaratively, shouting and pointing her finger at Chloe. Her eyebrows were furrowed, and her jaw hurt from being clenched. When she spoke again, her voice was less of a shout and more of a hiss, quiet and accompanied by a sharp grab of Chloe’s arm. “Need to talk to you.” 

“Oh my God, Beca,” Chloe recoiled, sighing with frustration, “We ARE talking! Jesus Christ, you’re so dense you just–”

“No,” Beca said, her words slipping through the tight space between her teeth, “I need to  _talk_ to you. Somewhere else.” 

The grip on Chloe’s arm was getting tighter, so much so that she knew she’d have a bruise there tomorrow. She hissed at the pain, trying to break away, but after noticing the change in Beca’s face, she followed the pull of her arm into the space behind the tent. Behind them, she heard the other Bellas stand around, confused, talking among themselves to figure it out. 

“What the eff, Beca,” Chloe said when they made it behind the tent. She was whispering, but only to not indicate to the other Bellas where they were. It was as close to a yell as she could manage. 

“Shut the fuck up and please kiss me,” Beca said, her words bursting out of her mouth before she could control them. “This should be more fucking romantic but I just…God, you with the…fuck….Can you just do what I asked you to do already?!” 

Chloe would’ve laughed - she really would’ve - because that was Chloe, and that was how she tended to respond to an overwhelmed and blushing Beca. Only, this time Beca’s words, though jumbled, held a very distinct meaning. One that threw a punch in her gut and made her mouth dry. So she grabbed Beca’s face and pressed her lips against the other girl’s, cutting her off mid-sentence. 

She learned that, apparently, there was only one way to shut Beca up. 

And she wasn’t really opposed to that. 

Only a few minutes later, they crept out from behind the tent, breathless and a little worse for wear, although no one seemed to question it. Amy did put a hand on Beca’s shoulder, asking her if she had moonshine packed away or something, because the girl was, apparently, walking like she was drunk - and giggling as much, too - while Aubrey was watching Chloe out of the corner of her eye, recognizing the kind of flushed half-smile that was stretched across her face. She didn’t get the chance to confront Chloe about it, though, because as she was walking up to the redhead, she heard a squeal coming from behind and the half-smirk on Chloe’s face became total concern with a slight, slight, miniscule hint of amusement. 

“Beca, what the hell?” she said when she turned around to find the tiny girl shouting nonsensically from the bear trap. 

“I’m so so sorry,” Beca sputtered, “I wasn’t paying attention and I - I’m sorry, I’m sorry Emily for compulsively making your bed at school, I’m sorry Lilly for nodding even though I have no fucking clue what you’re saying.” 

She was frantically moving around the rope, limbs poking out everywhere as her voice increased in panic. 

“Beca,” Chloe warned from below, “Stop talking.” 

“Chloe, Chloe,” Beca said frantically. She was about to say more, but Chloe’s concern grew as she stepped forward. 

“Beca, chill,” she said slowly, “And stop talking.” 

Beca was just about to take a deep breath before the branch cracked slightly, causing her to scream and the girls below to scatter in fear. “Chloe I’mSorryThatIWasntMoreRomanticIHadThisWholeThingPlannedButYouLookedSoHot AndI’mSorryForTellingEveryoneRightNowEvenThoughYouWantedToKEepItQuiet.” 

The branch cracked again, and before the Bellas could react to the news that Beca just spat out, her net fell, landed on 80% of the girls, who all were on the ground, groaning. 

“You okay?” Chloe said, leaning over Beca. 

“Y-yeah,” Beca said, inspecting herself. “Yeah, I am.” 

“Good,” Chloe said. She reached up and slapped Beca on the head. “Because that was dumb and you’re hot too.” 


	122. The One With the Open Curtains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “i see you jogging around my block every morning so i guess it’s my fault i accidentally left my curtains open when changing while you passed by” au — sent by anonymous

She liked to run every morning. Before the sun had a chance to rise above the trees and push heat through the air, before the birds were aware of their morning duties, and before the dew was wiped from the grass, she liked to hear the pounding of her feet against the street. There was something calming about it, but, more than that, there was something powerful. Like with her speed, she was able to make the world turn into day. 

And she used to think that there was nothing that could distract herself from that feeling. Her mom used to say that Chloe would be the first person to hit a deer while jogging - because if she had her tennis shoes on, she was as good as blind. Aware only of her base instincts to avoid other joggers and wait to cross the street, she operated on autopilot as a means of bursting through the morning in a sweating mess. Only, her focus had been pulled. Years of running, proper running, and she found for the first time on a Monday morning before class that her focus had been undeniably pulled. 

There was proof of this in the scab that was forming all too slowly on her knee, and the cut on her chin, because she tripped over her own two feet that morning while running, and Aubrey wouldn’t let her hear the end of it. 

“You never fall,” she said, picking at the lettuce on Chloe’s plate. “So what happened, Beale?” 

“Nothing,” Chloe said. She ran her fingers lightly over the scratch on her chin. “Nothing, I dunno…I just…I lost focus.” 

“You lost focus,” Aubrey repeated, looking Chloe in the eyes. Immediately, Chloe’s eyes darted to the corner of the patio, and Aubrey squinted. “Who’s the boy?” 

“What?” Chloe said, jumping. “No. Um. No, there’s no boy. Scout’s honor.” 

“Alrighttttt,” Aubrey sang, taking another bite of Chloe’s salad. “But show up to rehearsals with another round of those not-so-beauty marks and I’m going to  _have_ to investigate further.” 

“Aye aye cap’n,” Chloe answered with a fake salute. “No more falls for me.” 

Only, that wasn’t exactly true. Because the next day she veered onto the edge of the sidewalk, nearly twisting her ankle. The day after that, she almost ran into a stroller with twins and a very disgruntled young mother. 

Sure, she thought when Aubrey was inspecting the healing cut on her knee, she should try another route. One that wasn’t so…distracting. But the woman in the window was like some kind of magnet that she couldn’t quite explain. Ruffled hair and an over-sized bedshirt, she sat in the window with a mug of something that Chloe assumed to be coffee, with a look that was both sleepy and wide-awake. Like she was thinking about something so completely that she was dreaming about it. And every time Chloe witnessed the girl in the window, with the rising sun just barely reaching in, she found herself off track and incapable of promising herself that she wouldn’t go that route again tomorrow. 

It became a morning routine that she worshipped more fervently than that of running before sunrise. Because while running before sunrise made her feel like she was pulling the earth’s rotation, the girl in the window made her feel like she  _was_ the Earth’s rotation. She made her feel like she was some unstoppable force, set on a path that would never change or alter course, and there was something dangerously exuberant about feeling invincible. 

It helped, of course, that the girl in the window was beyond gorgeous, too. 

Chloe assumed, after the second week of running by the girl’s house, that she was noticed too. The girl’s eyes would follow her with the slightest of smirks that hinted that maybe she saw Chloe’s pull also - like she  _knew_ she was tightening that strange string of attraction on purpose. Chloe couldn’t confirm this suspicion, though, until the incident that almost sent her into an ambulance. 

Wednesday morning, and she almost didn’t run, because the clouds were out and ominous, promising more than just sun-cover. But she dragged herself out of bed, thinking that maybe all the sky needed was for her to run through. And maybe, on some small level, the girl in the window would be disappointed not to see her. 

When she ran by the girl’s house, though, the girl wasn’t sitting in her chair. There was no mug, and no shy, knowing smirk. So Chloe slowed, jogging in place, until light from the back door of the room streaked through, and the girl walked out of what Chloe assumed to be the bathroom. She was stark naked, the lines of her back folding into tattoos that dotted her shoulders and curls hanging loosely from a bun. Chloe couldn’t hear it, but by the way that the girl’s lips were pursed, she could imagine her singing. For a moment that was entirely too long, she forgot where she was, jogging in place with absolutely  _zero_ focus on her activities or surroundings. She thought that the girl might’ve noticed, smirking ever so slightly, and was quickly reminded that peeping through the open window of a nude girl’s room was probably not the most socially acceptable thing to do. So she took a deep breath, shaking her head and turning around to continue her run. But somewhere behind her headphones, she was sure she heard yelling. Pausing her music, she turned, looking for the sound and finding the girl, wrapped in a towel, leaning out the window. 

“I normally charge for a view like yours,” the girl said, and Chloe blushed, shaking her head and looking away. “You real dedicated to that running thing, or do you wanna come inside for a sec?” 

“The-the-th–,” Chloe was pointing behind her, but she became acutely aware of how dumb she sounded. “Um,” she sighed. Closing her eyes, she tried again. “Running…it’s not…like…a big thing…um…I could totes come inside. Yeah.” 


	123. The One With the Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I found these cards at CVS and couldn’t help but think of Bechloe.  
> Chloe’s continued from back  
> You charmed me from the moment we met, even more so in that shower stall ;). Your artistic intelligence has allowed me to see the world in downbeats and music notes, something I will be forever grateful for. You are the greatest thing to ever happen to me and I would gladly fail Russian Lit infinitely as long as it meant being with you forever. (But I’m glad that doesn’t have to happen because money doesn’t grow on trees and one can only read and analyze Anna Karenina so many times before wanting to join her in front of that train.)  
> I love you forever and always and yellow cups.  
> Chloe  
> xoxoxoxo   
> P.S. Titanium ;) ;) ;)  
> Please. Fic. Accordingly.

“It’s not that anniversaries aren’t important,” Beca explained. Cuddled into Chloe’s side, she let the ringlet of red hair that she was curling around her finger fall onto Chloe’s bare collarbone. “I just…” 

She stopped, biting her lip and burying her head into Chloe’s shoulder. Giggling, Chloe pulled Beca’s forehead from hiding, nuzzling her nose into Beca’s temple. “What?” 

“You’re gonna laugh,” she said, “Or…like…repeat it.” 

“Becs,” Chloe started. She shifted in bed, propping her wrist under her chin. “The pact was that I don’t tell Bree about anything that happens in bed. And we’re in bed. Thus, the pact in intact.” 

Beca rolled her eyes, shoving Chloe when the redhead wink salaciously. “You’re the worst,” she said, “And another part of that pact was to, like,  _not_ mention Posen whilst in bed, but…okay…so…” Pausing, she fiddled with her hands, running them through her hair. “I just think that it’s better to be unplanned. Like. I don’t need a day to tell you that I love you. Or to show you that I was thinking about you. Because that implies that I don’t do that everyday. Or…like…every second of every day, to be more accurate. So,” she shrugged, falling down to the pillow before meeting Chloe’s eyes, “Make everyday a milestone, yunno?” 

Chloe smiled, nodding. Lightly, she started to trace circles up Beca’s wrist and around the veins that popped out there. “I gotcha,” she said, “You know you’re the hopeless romantic here, right?” 

Beca groaned, closing her eyes and wincing. Chloe laughed, though, rolling over to Beca and pulling the other girl’s arm around her. “You’re dating Chloe Beale and  _you’re_ the hopeless romantic.” 

“God help me,” Beca finally said, but she was smiling too, the kind of dreamy smile that implied she’d already fallen asleep somewhere around five years ago, when she first met a particular redhead, and that the rest of this was some sort of indefinite yet utterly certain dream world. It was a smile that Chloe never could resist, and wasn’t in the practice of resisting as of late, so she pushed up to kiss the edges of it, slipping back into the night to keep the dream from ending. 

Thus, they started a tradition that Stacie had dubbed, “Utterly and completely adorable beyond measure - you two make me sick sometimes”. Because Beca had to travel a lot, and Chloe had late nights at work, they filled their house with reminders of each other. Small pictures of rocks on the side of the road with the caption, “Thinking of you”, or drawings dotting the edge of Chloe’s lesson plans with the note, “Love you more than you know”. It was an almost active effort for Beca to be unafraid to admit every instant of feeling, but Chloe eroded nearly every one of her censors so that every time she could identify that pang in her chest, she was able to fearlessly send a “Miss you” text, and every time she felt like she couldn’t stop smiling, she gave up the urge to resist buying that goofy t-shirt or intricate ladybug bracelet to leave in Chloe’s makeup bag when she wasn’t looking. 

Little presents and silly cards were scattered around their house, in their car, throughout their inboxes and inside their bags, all as a way of celebrating the every day that they got to share _feeling_ for one another. And Chloe couldn’t help that it was her favorite part of the day - seeing the note taped to the foggy mirror after her shower that complimented even her snores (she was feeling stuffed up, lately, in her defense). It was enough to take the pile of red-marked tests and make them green. It was enough to turn the weight on her shoulders into something that could make her fly. 

It wasn’t Beca’s smile when she told her she loved her, but it was close. It was the promise that Beca was there, was trying, and was ready to give Chloe the map into her mind. 

And Beca, too, thrived off of it. When she pulled the card from the windshield at work with a pack of her favorite licorice candy, the boss that was grinding down her patience and the songs that weren’t coming together like she wanted suddenly seemed like an anthill - capable of being crushed with the ease of a few hours before she could go home and thank Chloe properly. 

It wasn’t Chloe’s voice when she sang through the house in the morning, or the way she snuggled into Beca when she got nervous at television shows, but it was close. It was the promise that Chloe was going to stand, was going to wait, for every second that Beca wasn’t on time - every second until she was ready to give Chloe the map into her mind. 

So they weren’t much for anniversaries, because every day marked another day of their paradigms shifting for the better. And, sure, when Aubrey found out, Beca slapped Chloe’s shoulder, but she bit her lip, too, proud of the way Jesse mocked her for the effort. Because it didn’t much matter that her reputation was ruined, so long as she was upholding her vow to make every day a milestone. 

And, given the way Chloe never seemed to stop smiling - even on the bad days, tucked inside a blanket fort and looking for something to latch onto - Beca would say she was doing a pretty good job. A pretty damn good job.


	124. The One With Into the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just in case I never sent the Into the Woods prompt I texted you about... Here it is. refresher it was that Beca did Theatre in High school and was in Into the Woods (Cinderella, obviously) and NO ONE knows about it but somehow, through her singing or mixing it into something or something, Chloe figures out and LOVES IT but also gives her a little crap about it. — sent by scrawniest-calamity

“ _What_  is this, Beca Cadence Mitchell,” Chloe squealed from Beca’s bed. Beca peeked out from the bathroom, toothbrush perched precariously in her mouth. She saw Chloe on her knees, staring intently at the picture frame that sat on her bookshelf between forgotten stuffed animals and her broken collection of  _Chronicles of Narnia._

“When I invited you to come to my house for Thanksgiving, I didn’t exactly give you permission to snoop,” she said, but, since she was lost in the middle of teeth-brushing, it came out more like the jarbled talk of someone extremely incapacitated and halfway through a pack of bubblegum. 

“Oh shut up now is not the time for your chastisement,” Chloe chided. She jumped off the bed, ushering Beca back into the bathroom. “I need you to stop brushing your goddamn teeth and tell me why the hell there’s a picture of you on stage in a white gown, please and thank you.” 

Her hands were on Beca’s shoulders, pushing her towards the sink, and halfway through a protest, Beca bent over and spat out the toothpaste. When she washed off the brush, she turned towards Chloe. “When I get a cavity, it’s your fault.” 

“Whatever,” Chloe said, rolling her eyes. “SPILL.” 

She shoved the picture into Beca’s face, eyes brighter than Beca had seen them in a long time. Beca took the second to inspect the photo, looking at the softness that was added her face when the clock was rewound enough to take her back to her senior year at high school. Her eyes were wide with a lack of life experience that she didn’t know would hit her in the coming years, void of any trace of the heavy makeup she wore now despite the even powder of stage makeup she’d had pounded onto her face. 

The dress was loose-fitting - leftover from some earlier production of Phantom of the Opera, and altered to just barely work for the show - but it implied curves, giving her a figure that wasn’t unlike the one she had now, if not a little rounder with youth. 

She was singing, that much was sure, perched on the edge of a backdrop of stairs with her arms outstretched and bent at the wrists delicately. 

Beca snatched the photo out of Chloe’s hands, silently cursing herself for not making sure to clean out the room before the redhead came to visit. Without a word, she headed back into the bedroom, carefully placing the frame back where it had sat for three and a half years safely. 

The entire time, she felt Chloe’s eyes on her back, following her eagerly and waiting for words, but when nothing came, she whined, taking Beca’s hands. 

“You h _aaaaa_ ve to tell me,” she said, pulling Beca onto the bed, “Or else I’ll tell Grandpa Ted about the time you decided you could table dance.” 

“Okay for the record, there was a stunning  _lack_ of deciding happening that night, Chlo,” Beca argued, holding her hand out. “Second of all, I’m swearing you to secrecy.” 

Chloe stood up straight, zipping her lips shut with her fingers. “You have my word. Now, _please,_ I’m dying. You were a theatre nerd, weren’t you? A total theatre nerd.  _God_ I totally called it. I knew you had a penchant for the dramatics, I even told Au–” 

“Chlo!” Chloe’s mouth snapped shut, her attention refocusing as she bit her lip to apologize. “Okay. No repeating, and no laughing,” Beca said, “I need you to promise.” 

Chloe held a hand to her chest. “Duh, I promise.” 

“Right,” Beca said, sighing. She looked up at the photo, then back down at her fingers. “I was in the drama club in high schoo–”

“I  _knew_ it!” 

Beca glared, and Chloe mouthed a silent apology before motioning for Beca to continue. Waiting a second to be sure to avoid outbursts, Beca started again. 

“I dunno how it happened, really. Mostly just that my mom thought I should do something to ‘eliminate my introverted tendencies’ or something like that. Essentially she worked until five and I didn’t have my license freshman year so…But, regardless, I auditioned as a freshman, got the lead –”

“OF  _COURSE_ YOU DID,” Chloe squealed, earning a groan from Beca. 

“You  _need_ to not interrupt me like a proud mom every time I tell a story, Chlo,” she said between sighs, “Like, just as a general rule this weekend. Okay?”

“Okay,” Chloe said. She had to actively fight the desire to talk so Beca would continue. 

“Anyway, it was kinda unheard of, so I couldn’t exactly turn down the part. Then one part became two parts. Then three. So before I knew it I was drama club president and officially a princess.” Chloe looked at her, confused, so Beca picked up the picture again, looking over it. “Cinderella. Into the Woods. Yeah,” Beca nodded when Chloe looked impressed, “Sondheim.” 

“Shit, Becs,” Chloe said, stealing the frame out of Beca’s hands. She pushed it closer to her face, nose nearly pressed against it as she analyzed the photo. She was beaming with a strange mixture of utter amusement and total pride. After a breath, she looked up at Beca, eyes electric. “Sing some.” 

“What?” Beca said. She stole the frame back easily, quickly putting it back. “Fuck no, Chlo. I don’t even really -”

“Nononononono,” Chloe sang, “You  _need_ to sing some. Part of the deal.” 

“What deal?” 

“The one that I just made up that means you have to sing,” Chloe said easily, squeezing Beca’s hand. “Come  _on,_ just, like, one verse. Or a chorus. Or a song. Like, yunno, probably a whole song. Just so I can get a taste.” 

Beca rolled her eyes, shoving Chloe nearly off the bed. “I’m serious!” Chloe argued, holding her hands up innocently, “I wanna hear ya be Ms. Beca Broadway!” 

“You’re the worst,” Beca said, though her arm was being successfully twisted and she was already running the lines of one of the songs through her head. 

“But….you’ll sing for me anyway?” Chloe tried, smiling because she knew she already had Beca in the palm of her hand. 

“Phone,” Beca said, hand out. Chloe gave it to her without question, and Beca put it behind her back. “You are  _not_ filming this,” she explained, and Chloe nodded, sitting up straighter. Beca followed, putting a hand on her stomach and breathing in once, twice, three times before starting. 

By the time she was finished, Chloe was breathless, ending in a vapid applause which actually made Beca blush. “Oh my god, Beca Mitchell,” she said in awe, “Broadway star and Disney princess.” 

“Shut up,” Beca said, slapping Chloe on the arm. “If anyone’s the Disney princess here it’s you.” 

“Oh really?” Chloe said, eyebrows raising. 

“Chlo, animals literally flock to you when you sing,” Beca said, and Chloe shrugged. 

“It happened one time,” Chloe answered nonchalantly, but Beca scoffed. They shifted so they were sitting side-by-side on the bed, and Beca sighed, taking Chloe’s hand. 

“Your hands are warm,” Chloe commented, squeezing them. Beca shrugged. 

“You made me nervous,” she said, “Haven’t ‘performed’ like that in forever.” 

“Mmmm,” Chloe hummed, closing her eyes. “Y’should do it more,” she said, “My princess.” 

“No,” Beca said, though she could feel Chloe’s eyes close, “That is  _so_ not an okay nickname, Beale.” 

“Cinder-ellie?” Chloe said between yawns. Beca slipped her hand around her shoulders. 

“I hate you,” she muttered, slipping down under the covers. It was silent for a moment. Then, 

“I’m really glad you shared that with me, Becs.”

“You forced me.” 

“I’m glad I did,” she buried her body under the blankets, “Because you are damn good. Damn,” she paused to yawn again, “Good.” 

“Thanks,” Beca said, wishing she’d turned off the lights but knowing that she wasn’t going to get up now. 

“You should do it more,” Chloe said off-handedly, and Beca counted the stars still glued to her ceiling. 

“Yeah,” Beca answered, sighing. “Yeah, I should.” 


	125. The One With Broadway Beca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did I ever send you the Beca accidently on Broadway prompt. I'll send more details but it was from a text conversation. — sent by scrawniest-calamity

She wasn’t exactly sure how it happened. Of course, one doesn’t exactly  _accidentally_ end up on Broadway, but Beca wasn’t planning on donning stage makeup and singing duets fresh off the freezing New York streets. LA had been the plan, producer had been the dream, slipping in and out of sleezy clubs for the sake of talent until all the musical dues had been paid. Yet, somehow, or some way, she ended up on stage, sinking into the feeling of the taped-up wood beneath her feet and the power that the blinding lights had to erase an audience and enhance a passion. 

While she never had a major problem with addiction, she knew that it was in her nature to allow everything else to vanish in the face of her passion, so the stage became a sort of drug that she never thought she’d get into. It was an odd kind of shame - to maintain success in a field that you never told anyone you wanted to gain success in. So she kept it quiet throughout rehearsals, coming back to her tiny apartment with the only Chinese take-out store on the block that was open 24 hours and slipping into her pajamas while she ate dinner to the late night talk show on her cheap television screen. The other girls would text her, joking about how whereever she was working never really gave her time off, and mocking Beca effin’ Mitchell for becoming a workaholic in some cubicle job somewhere in an anonymous office building in New York of all places. When Stacie skyped and saw Beca drinking lemon water, she didn’t ask, choosing not to inquire about the slight rasp in Beca’s voice that only came after hours and hours of Bella rehearsal. And when Aubrey visited, she saw the script on the couch she was forced to sleep on, brushing it off as something artsy and new-age that she wouldn’t get as well as the other girl would. 

But Chloe pushed, digging and nudging her way through every phone call and text message until finally she saw the bruises on Beca’s knees and forced her to admit what was going on. “Rehearsals,” was all Beca said by way of explanation, but it was enough to make Chloe squeal, and eventually all the Bellas knew that there was some secret show on the horizon. So when they found out where, exactly, the show was, they all but lost their minds. 

_Fat Amy (3:43pm): Hey big BM, are the neon lights bright where you are?_

_Beca (3:47pm): What?_

_Stacie (3:51pm): Yeah, I’ve always wanted to know if there’s magic everywhere…_

_Emily (3:52pm): What’re you guys talking about?_

_CR (3:54pm): Get your tickets now, aca-bitches, our baby’s goin’ on Broadway!_

_Beca (3:55pm): Wtf. Guys. Not public info._

_Stacie (3:56pm): We’re allowed to be PROUD becs_

_Fat Amy (4:00pm): *wipes away tear* I taught her everything she knows_

_Aubrey (4:02pm): Hotel’s booked. We’ll need suggestions for dinner beforehand, but schedule’s are cleared._

_Stacie (4:03pm): Wow, Bree, contain your excitement_

_Aubrey (4:05pm): I’ve seen her jazz squares. Let’s hold out for excitement._

_Fat Amy (4:06pm): Amen to that, sista_

_Emily (4:06pm): Guys this is insane!_

Chloe was silent throughout the group chat, choosing instead to send a barrage of texts directly to Beca complete with gifs and entirely too many exclamation points for her own good. Beca checked the phone every time there was a break in rehearsing, smiling at the way they rallied together even if the attention was slightly uncomfortable. 

There was something undeniably sweet about being reminded that these girls had her back, and, by opening night, Beca became acutely aware of how necessary that was. 

Of course, she moved in relative autopilot throughout the performance, shaving off nerves by completely tuning out her mind to everything except the feeling pulsating throughout her body. Electric. 

By the end of the show, that Bellas swarmed her, pushing flowers and chocolates and one too many ridiculous looking stuffed animals into the dressing room before Beca dragged them out and asked them to wait for her to get out of the god-awful sundress she was forced into for the closing number. 

She looked in the mirror, the lights illuminating every inch of powder that was setting on her face. The angles were made more dramatic, but somehow simultaneously softened by the colors framing her face, and, she could admit, coral had a different effect to her face - not to mention the lighter hair that she had to adopt for the role, which scared her nearly every time she looked in the mirror in the middle of the night. 

She looked different - changed, somehow, and she knew it was because there was something about where she stood only minutes ago that gave her more than just the feeling of invincibility. She  _was_ invincible, untouchable, undefeatable, and it was only until she was capable of reliving the past five minutes did she feel even the slightest tremor of anything bad in her system. 

Because hot off the high of performance, she didn’t notice the stunning lack of red hair in the crowd of girls that tackled her moments ago. There was no familiar squeal or scent of vanilla pushing through all of her senses. And Beca thought to how much she was looking forward to that moment of having Chloe there, slamming into her with all the excitement that she herself had pent up - the first person to hug her and the last person to leave, every light in her eye telling Beca the truth about the magnetic nature of her performance. 

She didn’t realize that she needed that reassurance until she didn’t have it, and suddenly the idea of even being able to brave the world outside her door seemed impossible. 

“Where’s Chloe, Ms. Super Star?” Stacie whispered when they made their way over to the bar, an after party sponsored by Aubrey’s corporate paycheck. 

“I’m not her keeper,” Beca bit back, sipping her drink. It was only water, but it stung going down, but it cleaned out the wounds that the words carved in anyway, and the girls felt the fire there, but decided not to push, shoving each other out the booth and bidding a good night, or a joking and drunken rendition of “Goodbye Until Tomorrow” in puffs of martini-breath directly into Beca’s face. 

The Bellas were gone by the next day, with only Stacie sticking around for another night, because she could just “never get used to the hair” and kept stealing glances at Beca that hinted at some sort of pride throughout the night after the performance, like she’d watched the girl grow up before her eyes and now got to see some sort of metaphorical graduation. 

“You need to stop,” Beca had said on the taxi ride back to her apartment. 

“I’m so prouddddd of you,” Stacie sang, giggling, and Beca just held her hand up. 

“I’m not saving the world,” she argued, leaving Stacie to just shrug. Because she wasn’t, not really. No version of the opening song could ever hope to achieve that. Still, she wished she hadn’t felt so tired, so drained, and from more than just the performance. She wasn’t proud, she was just numb, in a way that she didn’t care to consider. In two and a half nights, the pride had wafted away, and left in it’s wake an absence the size and shape of a Bella who never came. 

So Stacie left for the airport the next day, leaving Beca alone backstage after her third performance, painfully aware of the absence of sound that seemed almost deafening at this point. And on it went, with three hours of electricity nightly, followed by a fall the likes of which no rollercoaster had ever seen. 

What Beca couldn’t see, trapseying over the stage every night, was the audience behind the spotlight. Black blobs laughing at the right moments and clapping at opportune times were precisely what enabled Beca to not be so scared. They also made Beca unable to spot the patch of red hair that sat in the same seat every night for two weeks. Which, in hindsight, was surprising, because Beca was certain that nothing could ever dilute Chloe’s eyes - not even a trick of the light - but still, the nights and weeks passed with the redhead slipping in and out of the audience without getting noticed. 

And it wasn’t her original plan - not at all - because of course she wanted to tackle Beca just like she’d imagine that first night with all the pride and joy that she was capable of. Only, it had been two years of distanced contact, and while that didn’t stop the other Bellas, it stopped Chloe for a reason that existed beyond her mind’s comprehension. She assumed it was because of the way Beca opened the show, eyes bloodshot and voice rendering heartbreak in the chests of every audience member. She assumed it was because she felt a unique and terrifying pang numb her entire body every time she heard Beca’s voice break on stage, and she assumed it was because she could  _feel_ was Beca was thinking, feeling. She assumed it was because she felt that she was the source, somehow. 

And then Beca laughed, smiling on stage through dances and songs that raised her voice higher than even where the lights hung, because it was such a familiar sound that had grown to be so foreign. It was in those moments that Chloe allowed herself to cry - because the laugh sounded so genuine, but she could pick out the tiny places where it was fake, and because it had been so long, so long, since she’d been the source of that sound. And because she would give the world to be the source of that sound again. 

Maybe what held her back was the way she saw Beca become light on stage - travel from her world of dark into a place where everything was brighter, like the saturation and hue was bumped up a few points. It could’ve been the make-up, or the lighter hair, but she saw that strange energy pulsing through Beca, and she felt some sense of specialness because it seemed like she was the only person in the room who could recognize just how magical it all was. 

Either way, she sat in the audience for two weeks - twelve shows - rendered completely unable to walk to Beca’s dressing room door and tell her how undeniably amazing she was on the stage. It was ridiculous, really, and not the least bit inexpensive, but Chloe was a creature of emotion and sensation rather than reason (she  _did_ spend three extra years of college tuition just to “sing in an acapella group”), and she couldn’t resist coming back night after night. 

And she did wait - she did try - standing in front of the door for the few minutes after the show with her hand held up ready to knock. The ability just never came to her, and in the cold of the winter in New York, she turned around to leave, crossing her way to the tiny apartment in the city that she lived in, disappointed by the haze that she was continuously thrown into night after night. 

The only thing that broke her out of that haze was Beca’s voice. Or, at least, she assumed that that would be the only thing that would throw her out of that haze, so when Beca actually did say her name, with more confusion and concern than she was used to, she learned that her theory wasn’t entirely correct. Because Beca’s voice only pushed her more into the haze, making her incapable of even walking so that, as she stood in front of Beca’s dressing room, she just opened and closed her mouth and tried to will her legs to move. 

“Chloe?” Beca tried again, pressing into the doorway. She still had her stage makeup on, and her hair was carefully coiffed, and Chloe couldn’t hide the fact that the lightness of her sundress made her entire self seem different somehow. Not wrong, but different. Younger and older at the same time. 

“Beca,” she said. Her voice cracked when she said it, and she was certain she was crying, though she couldn’t tell. Her body was fighting against her, needing and resisting and hating the urge to run into the smaller girl’s arms. 

“Chloe, I didn’t know you were here, you didn’t–”

“You are amazing,” Chloe said in a breath, cutting Beca off. “You are…just…a giant up there, Becs. Like, you shine. You really, really shine.” 

Beca thought that if words could tackle, this would the Chloe Beale of linguistic hugs, because now she was crying too, and neither of them quite knew why there was still distance between their bodies. Beca closed it, pushing Chloe in and nuzzling against her chest. 

“I think I did it for you,” she admitted, holding Chloe tighter. She knew she smelled like baby powder and costumes, but she didn’t much care, because she could smell Chloe, and it was like being on stage only better in how much smaller it was. Better because she could hold it in the way she couldn’t hold performing. 

“I think I always do it for you.” 


	126. The One Without the Lady Balls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca wakes up half drunk/sober after a wild night out and drunkenly confesses to Chloe how much she means to her. Chloe is really touched but also sad bc she knows that Beca will NEVER have the lady balls to tell her these things to her while sober. — sent by sprthorses

It wasn’t that Beca wasn’t brave or ballsy or shy with her words. Chloe just knew by the way her navy eyes were clouded in something deeper, that the courage to speak came straight from the alcohol that soaked her breath, and it hurt, almost, because she could see the truth within the sentiment - she could  _see_ how badly Beca had wanted to say what she said - but she knew that when that temporary bravery was wiped away, so, too, would the words be. 

So when Beca snuggled into Chloe’s collarbone, wincing against the harsh light of the sun outside, and said, “I don’t think I could live without you, Beale”, Chloe responded with a pat on her head. The hair on Beca’s forehead was stuck with sweat, her makeup smeared, and she said, “Chlo, I love you”. And Chloe responded with a flutter of her eyes. 

“You’re drunk,” she said simply, pulling Beca closer. Under the blankets and the rays of the sun, it was hot, but she needed something to hold onto so that the floor wouldn’t fall out from under her and send it all crashing down. “Take a shower, sleep it off, and then get back to me, Babe.” 

“Mmmm,” Beca hummed. She was smiling, her lips centimeters away from Chloe’s collarbone, and it was the same goofy grin that she had on last night. The one that came from vodka and beer mixed in an unfortunate manner, shown when a good song played or Chloe said just the right thing in her ear. 

She was beautiful, even like this - lost in a place between drunk and sober without an actual awareness of her existence. 

When her breath evened out again, Chloe shrugged down, pressing her lips to Beca’s temple. “Damnit,” she said lightly, her words so quiet that she almost couldn’t hear them, “I love you too, Becs.” 

Beca pulled her closer then, as if she heard, though Chloe knew by the look on the sleeping girl’s face that she was entirely unaware. So she took in the scent of alcohol and sweat, mixed with a hint of Beca’s actual smell, and she sighed. 

It’s not that Beca wasn’t brave or ballsy. It was just that she took all of her bravery out in the protection of others, using cowardice as a means to protect herself. So when it came to saying what she needed to say - what it took courage to say - she said it when she was lost in that place, half sober and half drunk, so that she had the power to forget it again later. 

And Chloe wished, somewhere in the back of her mind, that she was as drunk as Beca - hot off a wild night and hazy with sleep. Because maybe then she wouldn’t remember how good it felt to hear those words pressed against her skin, or how  _right_ it felt to wake up with Beca by her side. Maybe then she would have that protection too. 

Maybe. 

Maybe not. 


	127. The One With the Basketball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bechloe minific where Beca is on a basketball team and chloe is a cheerleader and they both lowkey like each other but then they both also think the other doesn't know of their existence until one day in the locker rooms after a match — sent by anonymous

It’s more than just seeing her before. Yes. And while it wasn’t  _stalking,_ Beca would be lying if she said that she hadn’t made frequent mental notes about the redheaded cheerleader at the sidelines of her games. If asked, she would claim it was because those blue eyes were entirely too distracting, and it threw her off her shooting record ninety percent of the time. If asked, she would very much deny that the mental notes were because the redhead tended to smile her way at the beginning and end of the games, and because they had the same class together in the middle of the day, and because some nights every time Beca closed her eyes she couldn’t help imagining some insane scenario wherein they talked and fell in love and lived happily ever after. 

Of course, she didn’t much buy the whole fairytale thing. But nighttime was the time that she was able to let her guard down enough for those sneakily optimistic thoughts to come through without her deeming them frivolous or, at the very least, creepy. 

Suffice to say, it was a crush. A crushing crush that was based so completely in magnetic attraction and not emotional or mental attachment. 

Maybe the worst kind of crush - the kind with no meaningful for reasonable source at all. The kind with no chance of reciprocation at all, too. 

Still, the redhead - Chloe was her name, she’d figured out - had a stare that weighed heavily on Beca’s shoulders as she ran the court, pressing the ball down every time she tried to bounce it up, and occasionally pushing the ball out of the hoop when Beca tried to shoot. Tonight in particular, Chloe’s eyes glued onto Beca’s, remaining there throughout the entirety of the cheerleaders’ half-time routine and pulling a blush from Beca’s cheeks that were the result of way more than the cardio she was engaging in at the moment. 

There was something charged in the stare - something strange and magnetic and electric - and Beca felt like each game leading up to this point only enhanced the charge. Somewhere within her, she hoped that this was the peak, certain that if, come next week, the stare was even more intense, she’d have to quit the team out of pre-emptive embarrassment immediately. 

The won - they always win - and Chloe squealed - she always squealed - clapping her pom poms together when she watched the final seconds play out. It was, Beca began to think, one of the only reasons the game was continuing to matter for her. She sat there after the stands had cleared out, hands stuck inside her gym bag and staring at the bleachers. There was popcorn crumbs on the floor, and the distant sound of the team’s echoes as they passed through the halls and out to the parking lot. Only when she knew she’d be alone did she bother to venture into the locker room, needing the time to process the game, her game, their game, like she did every night after a win. The quiet was a chance to think about what she did right, what she did wrong, and how the hell she could be proud of herself (a particularly long-standing struggle that she was just now beginning to try to handle). But when she walked into the locker room, she heard the sound of a faucet dripping, and she turned the corner to see a certain redhead pressing water to her face from the cruddy sinks. 

“Oh,” she said, surprised. The water turned off, but Chloe kept her eyes closed, reaching for a paper towel and wiping her face before opening them. Without the makeup, they were bluer, somehow. Fresh and clean and bright with victory, and Beca wondered if she ever looked that shining when she won. She assumed not, but she didn’t have too much time to ponder, being that she’d already spent entirely too much time watching the redhead in total shared silence. “Sorry,” she finally said, “I didn’t realize there was anyone else in here.” 

“You’re fine,” Chloe chirped, reaching for her keys. “Just needing to get that muck off my face.” 

“You’re tellin’ me,” Beca muttered, turning to look in the mirror. Her face was beat red - running always did that to her, though she contributed the blotchiness to fact that she could _smell_ Chloe Beale standing next to her. Sweat was plastered to her forehead, which her hair curled around the crown of her head. “God only knows what the fuck my face’s got on it. Gross.” 

She turned on the faucet, bending down before noticing that Chloe was going to speak. “It’s kinda hot, actually,” the redhead said, and Beca turned the faucet off immediately on instinct. It was the wrong move, obviously, because it held zero subtlety and wasn’t at all passable as casual. Chloe chuckled, confirming Beca’s fears, before leaning closer. “I like a girl who plays games,” she said with a wink. 

Beca tried her best to convincingly roll her eyes. “Is teasing part of the requirement for being a cheerleader,” she said, though her voice wasn’t entirely smooth and collected. Chloe shrugged, picking up her bag from under the sink. 

“No,” she said simply, “But it’s how I tend to handle crushes on the basketball superstar, personally.” 

“Wh…” Beca stopped her words, unable to form them fully. She was dizzy, and hoped it was just because she didn’t drink enough during the game. But she wasn’t dumb enough to think it was only that. 

Chloe laughed, holding out her hand. “Beca Mitchell,” she said, a smirk pulling at her lips, “I don’t know if you even know me…I know this is ridiculous. It’s just…I’ve, like, I dunno, I’ve seen you around. I’m, um, Chloe. Beale. Chloe Beale.” 

“Chloe,” Beca said, like she hadn’t practiced the name on her lips a thousand times, “Yeah. Yeah. Nice to meet you.” 


	128. The One With the Mix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if your taking prompts but if you are could you please do a minific about beca being shy/not knowing how to tell Chloe that she loves her and makes a mix and leaves it for Chloe with a note and they're both just super happy dorks after. Also your writing is awesome I love everything you write :) — sent by anonymous

When it’s important, the mixes are nearly impossible to make. None of the beats drown out right, slipping in and out with too much or too little ease, while the context never seems to fit exactly what Beca wants to say. So, she spends two weeks perfecting the mix - the longest she’s ever spent on any one song - re-downloading clean versions to muck up at least six times before she refused to let herself delete any more attempts. The songs play in her head before she goes to sleep, eating at her temples when she tries to eat - it’s like a math formula that can’t be solved, the numbers sinking into the light behind your eyelids until you finally finagle a way to get them to fit together. 

And even then, Beca’s aware that it’s not all perfectionism that keeps her from saving the mix. Because she can tell when she makes something good, and one night, around four in the morning, she finally decides that it does. So it’s not the quality of sound - not in the slightest. It’s fear. Plain and simple and clear, but knowing that doesn’t do much to lessen it’s power.

She thinks that it says it all. Everything she wants to say and everything she doesn’t even know that she wants to say. Which is exactly why she presses cancel twice - ruining two blank CDs halfway through the burning process - before she finally goes through with it. It’s fear. Plain and simple and clear. 

She slips into Chloe’s room right after the redhead comes back from her run, which is entirely too early in the morning for Beca - a concept that she’d actually planned out so that her mind wouldn’t be on as high of an alert as usual. She’s in the shower, singing softly to some song streaming through her ipod, so Beca has a clear shot to the backpack that sits on the vanity. She puts the CD there, blanketing it with a simple note: 

 _“Chlo,_  
Didn’t know how to say it.   
But I think you’ll get this.   
At least, I hope you do.” 

And she thinks that it’s the dumbest idea ever to sneak into Chloe’s room at 7am to gift this to her. She thinks that nighttime would’ve been better, because now she has to suffer through getting ready for her day without a sound coming from Chloe’s room. Now she has to go down stairs and brave the kitchen to get her coffee, without a sound coming from Chloe’s room. Now she has to go to class, jittery and anxious, without a sound coming from Chloe’s room. 

It’s fear. Plain and simple and clear. And it peaks, surging to an all time high, when she hears steps coming down the staircase, revealing the redhead’s legs and an easy blue sundress. 

Beca puts down her mug and the granola bar she is stuffing into her backpack with her other hand. Her throat is too dry to swallow anything anyway. 

“Beca,” Chloe says, her hand still on the banister. Her expression is unreadable. 

“Chloe,” Beca squeaks, then coughs. 

“Headed to class?” she says, moving from the staircase and into the kitchen. Beca’s eyes follow her, eventually nodding, though confused. Chloe picks up a peach from the fruit bowl, inspecting it before putting it back down and leaning over the counter. “How about no?” 

“What?”

“How about,” Chloe says slowly. Her finger trails circles on the countertop, “You skip.” 

“Why?” Beca asks, stretching out the word. She thinks that there is a smirk on the side of Chloe’s lips that cause hope to jolt like lightning in her chest. She thinks, though she doesn’t know. Still, she starts smiling too, and she feels as though the infectious energy in the room is promising enough. 

“Because I am,” Chloe says. She leans more on the counter, finally breaking into a full grin. “I have a mix to listen to. Over. And over. And over.” 

Beca breathes, smiling too. “You liked it?” 

“Becs,” Chloe breathes. Her tone is slightly insulted, slightly amazed. “I  _loved_ it.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Chloe says, her eyes on fire. “And…” she pauses, biting her lip before her eyes skirt down to Beca’s. The other girl doesn’t realize how far she’s leaning forward until their noses touch, and then she gasps lightly. “I’m not good with my words either, Becs,” she says quietly, tilting her head. 

“That’s okay,” Beca breathes, grabbing Chloe’s face and closing the distance between their mouths. 

When they pull away, Chloe hums. “That’s totally okay.” 


	129. The One With a Diary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bechloe prompt: beca and chloe haven't admitted their feelings for each other yet and they're both single. then one night beca accidentally reads Chloe's diary entry about her... preferably it ends with a kiss? — sent by anonymous

_When I fell asleep, I saw her,_ she read,  _She was on the phone, and I could hear her through the walls, so I guess it made sense the way she slipped right into my dreams. We sang some variation of the mix she gave me last weekend - her voice fitting in mine like a good hand to hold._

 _I think I’ve known for longer than I care to note,_  she read,  _Because I know that when I wake up, I look forward to seeing her. When class has been hard, she’s the only person I want to talk to, and when I’m tired, she makes me laugh in that way that you do when you think no one can hold you back._

 _I think I’ve known for longer than I care to note,_ she read,  _And it scares me. Because I think I love her bigger than I am capable of realizing. In the way where if she’s happy, I am. Even when it hurts._

 _I think it scares me more than anyone can realize,_ she read,  _Because if she smiles, I break, and I don’t know what to do. Because she’s the most important person to me, and if having her around - happy - means not being able to hold her hand or tell her how I feel then…I have to do it. I have to do it. She’s the world to me, and being with her is not worth the price of losing her._

 _But I think I love her more than I love to sing,_ she read.  _Yeah, I think I love her more than I love to sing._

Beca doesn’t register the fact that she is reading what she is reading, her eyes immediately scanning just enough to get the gist and hook on without her permission. By the end, she is shaking, and there is a crease in the paper where her thumb holds it so tight it might rip. 

“Beca, what’re you–” Chloe’s voice is behind her, peaking through the squeaking doorway and pausing when she takes in the situation, “Beca, what the hell?!” 

The pages are torn from Beca’s hands in an instant, Chloe’s eyes flaming with some sort of anger and some sort of fear. And Beca thinks,  _she’s really beautiful._

She thinks,  _I never realized that she is beautiful._

So she says it, lost in the haze that Chloe’s scribble swirled her into. “You’re beautiful”, two words spoken with a sort of reverence that Beca isn’t sure she’s ever been capable of. “I’m so sorry, Chlo.” 

She’s not certain what’s she apologizing for, just that she feels like it’s necessary, because Chloe is fuming and because Beca feels sick, like there’s a shift beneath her feet that she’s not ready for but if she doesn’t jump now she might slip off. So she refuses to look down, following the smoky haze forward to grab onto Chloe’s face, outlining her jaw with her thumb. “I didn’t think,” she starts, and Chloe’s hands automatically go to her hips. “I knew, I guess. I just…I never thought. Yunno?” 

“Yeah,” Chloe whispers. Beca thinks about how much has changed in only seconds - about how Chloe’s eyes are soft now, hesitant and scared but void of that anger of moments ago. Beca can feel that her eyes are mirrors, and she wonders how it happened. How her lips are almost on Chloe’s, and how she wants that distance to close more than anything else. 

“If I kiss you now, can I do it again later?” she asks, and Chloe nods beneath her hands. “Because I don’t know if I’ll remember this,” she admits, “But I didn’t know how much I wanted to until now. And I can’t stop to wait until I forget again.” 

When she pulls away, breathless, she opens her eyes enough to see Chloe opening hers too. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, and this time it’s with a smile. She doesn’t know what it’s for, but she knows that Chloe doesn’t much care now. “I shouldn’t have read your diary.” 

It sends Chloe into a fit of giggles, and Beca thinks that that feels nice. Making Chloe laugh, feels nice. And she wonders if she’ll write about this later.


	130. The One with Snapchat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> head cannon where beca never snapchats pictures of her face, and if so only blurry and chloe is the only one she feels comfortable sending selfies to — sent by anonymous

She started to send them as a joke, blurred images of her face near something that reminded her of Chloe, because just as there’s something comforting about seeing someone you love, there’s something comforting about knowing that someone you love is seeing you. So, miles and miles apart, she sent Chloe selfies with an immediate follow-up that read “Erase that immediately and share on the penalty of vocal-chord-eating wolves”. 

And Chloe wondered if somehow Beca knew when she needed those texts the most - trapped under a pile of paperwork or bills that refused to pay themselves, stuck in traffic on the day of the big choir concert or lost at recess with every single one of her nerves lost via the shouting kids running around outside. She wondered if somehow Beca knew how much she looked forward to that moment her phone ping’d and Beca’s face showed up in some ridiculous and blurry message of affection and care. 

The first she sent was while they were still in school, over summer vacation. Beca was in the hair-dye aisle, peeking out over a package of red dye and looking to her left innocently. The caption read, “Thinking of you, Red. But I don’t miss you enough to go ginge”. It was the day that Chloe’s family decided to go to the summer house, between flights with her parents yelling by the ticket counter and her nephew’s spit-up on her sweatshirt. She responded with a picture of herself, frowning, and the text, “Thinking of you, too. Apparently I’ve picked up some of your classic smiling abilities. And your amazing fashion choices”. 

She sent one soon after they graduated, during the first Thanksgiving they spent apart in three years (Chloe always begged Beca to take her to her house for the holiday, since it never ended well with her family). There was a Troll doll in her hand, dressed up as an Indian and perched next to a fake stuffed turkey. She eyed it warily, and the angle nearly cut the entire scene in half. “You were a cuter native,” she had said, “Better hair, at least”. Chloe was on the couch in her too-small apartment, heating up her instant mashed potatoes and watching some love musical special on television. It was later where she was at, just around dinner time, and she was grateful that the incessant calls from her mother had ceased. She sent a picture back of her microwave, saying, “Your mom’s are way better. Send her my love x”. 

There was one on a Saturday night, taken under the blankets so that Beca looked like just a face in a cocoon of comforter. She was smiling, wide and goofy with her eyes closed, and it was late enough for Chloe to assume alcohol had been involved. “Miss my sleeping buddy,” she said, “Bed’s too cold without you”. Chloe responded with a picture of her sipping coffee the next morning, after having turned her phone off to try to ease her into a sleep that wasn’t coming. “Rule number one: don’t be adorable before noon, Becs”. 

Her current favorite - only a few days old - was sent as Chloe was stuck in traffic, horn honking relentlessly with the sun baking her arm out the window. The music was digging into her temples, and she felt sticky and sick and sad, for some reason. The billboard directing cars to the airport lingered over head, like a mirage. Her phone ping’d, and Beca was holding up a t-shirt that read “I <3 LA”, rolling her eyes. “You would totally buy this,” she texted, “So I thought I’d buy it for you instead. Who’ve you turned me into?” There was a photo immediately after that, with Beca biting her lip and looking directly at the camera nervously. She had that look of airplane pressed into the space under her eyes, but she was fresh and bright and glowing. “P.S. I’m here,” she sent in the next text, “Don’t make me loiter, Beale”. 

They were little gifts to Chloe - little ways that Beca made Chloe smile throughout the day, because there was a comfort in seeing someone you love in the same way that there was comfort in knowing that someone you love sees you. They were little gifts and Chloe saved them all religiously, going to them when she needed to throughout the day. What was better, though, was hearing the sound of Beca’s old Bellas traveling suitcase on the linoleum of the airport. Smelling her hair when she was pulled in for a hug and hearing the groan that she let out when Chloe held her too tight. Because there was an utterly blissful joy that came from holding someone you love in the same way that there was an utterly blissful joy that came from being held by someone you love. 

And even then, it was blurry. Ridiculous. 

And exactly what Chloe needed. 

“It’s so good to see you,” she said when they broke apart. 

“Yeah,” Beca said, “Me too.” 


	131. The One With the Shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idk if you're still doing prompts but could you do one where once they move into the Bella house Chloe just casually hops into Becas showers since she's "been there done that" and eventually beca gets use to it and they just casually shower together like as friends. No smut but obvi Chloe making flirty comments and flustered beca Thanks a ton — sent by anonymous

“Chloe, fucking shit!” Beca clutched the shower curtain to her chest like she had years ago, her eyes bugging at the girl who was standing at the end of the shower with a grin on her face. 

“Oh hush,” Chloe tutted, reaching around Beca to turn the water to scalding. “That whole scared deer thing, Becs? Been there done that. Now can you pass the shampoo?” 

Beca’s eyes were on fire, burning into Chloe’s, a way of screaming at the redhead to get out without actually using words. But Chloe’s eyes fought back, accompanied by a wicked grin, and when Chloe’s eyes fought back, they nearly always won. So Beca slowly let go of the shower curtain, fighting the urge to cover herself with any means possible. 

She felt, immediately, Chloe’s eyes roam over her, like a laser scanner that scorched every inch of her skin, and she was sure that she was blushing  _everywhere_ which only made her want to cower more. 

“If you’ve ‘been there done that’,” Beca started, her voice slightly shaky, “Then you really shouldn’t need to stare.” 

Chloe sparkled at that, giggling and leaning forward to put her hands on Beca’s shoulders. “True,” she said, her voice a whisper, “But what fun would that be?” 

Beca tried to come up with something to say in response, but she was silenced by a wink and the feel of Chloe’s hip on her torso as she reached. “Scootch,” she said, nudging Beca, “I need my loofa.” 

She effectively shoved Beca out of the line of the showerhead and into the corner, which, to Beca, was a-okay because the further she was from the redhead, the further she’d be from trying to count the freckles on the small of her back when she turned around. When she let her hair down from the bun it was in, it still smelled of her shower from yesterday, and Beca recognized the scent immediately, watching the natural curls straighten out until the stream of water. 

She was tan - a planned and pre-emptive golden brown that she managed to maintain throughout the year even in the colder months. But now, Beca could see the lines of white that hid beneath the gold - so pale that they were shades of blue and pink, veins peeking out against stretch marks and juts of bone. 

She started humming, her hips moving slightly to the rhythm, and when she opened her eyes, stepping out of the water, she did it one by one, smiling. She bent down, taking Beca’s shampoo and pouring it out on her hand. “Turn around, Peeking Tom,” she said, pushing Beca into the water. 

“You’re the one who hopped in here,” Beca argued, but her voice was muffled by the water that ran down her face. Suddenly, she felt Chloe’s fingers massaging her head, starting from the top and moving down and back up again, easing the weight that pressed on her temples and pulling out all the heavy. “Mmm,” she said, leaning her head back, “You’re good at that.” 

“I know,” Chloe said, rinsing her hand off, “Now rinse.” 

When Beca was done, she looked at Chloe, who was still humming. She was washing her body with a bar of soap, and when she glanced at Beca, she smiled again. “What’s up, buttercup?” she said, causing Beca to roll her eyes. 

“I guess I should be thanking you for not singing ‘Titanium’, huh?” Beca said, reaching for the bar of soap. The space of the shower was too small for two bodies, and the soap kept slipping from her hands, making her normal fumbling approximately ten times worse and twenty times more obvious. Chloe watched with a grin on her face, a wink ever-present in the corner of her eye.

“I thought I’d ease in,” Chloe said, bopping her head, “Maybe next time, if that’s a request.” 

“What?” Beca said, turning around so quickly that she lost her balance. She fell forward, the faucet coming closer and closer to her face until she felt hands around her waist, pulling her back so that the ground on the other side of her seemed to suddenly be entirely too close to her head for safety. They landed with a thump, Beca on top of Chloe. It took her half a second to realize the situation they were in, and despite the sounds that the tub was making as she tried to stand, she fumbled her way to standing, wobbling the entire time and falling once or twice so as to land on Chloe more forcefully. Chloe laughed, never bothering to stand up. “Shit, sorry,” Beca said when she finally steadied herself. Chloe shrugged, leaning back. “S’fine,” she said, “What’re a couple of bruises among friends anyway, eh?” 

Beca, who was prepping to pour conditioner into her hand, stopped instantly and caught Chloe’s eye, blushing within seconds. “A-are you going to get up?” she said, her voice cracking not unlike that of a twelve year old boy. Chloe hummed. 

“I’m thinking of turning this into a bath,” she said simply, stretching out again. Swallowing a gasp, Beca covered her reaction with a roll of her eyes, throwing the curtain back.

“That’s enough,” she said, stepping out to grab a towel immediately, “You’re insane.” 

“And your butt is adorable,” Chloe said, tugging at the shower curtain to make eye contact with Beca in the mirror. “But thanks for the shower. Same time same place tomorrow?” 

“Ugh,” was all Beca said. She fumbled with her towel to get it to wrap completely around her, taking no time to dry off being storming out of the room. She hadn’t realized how fogged the mirror had gotten, but the steam was leaving the bathroom in clouds, sending a chill down her spine once she cleared herself of Chloe’s stare. 


	132. The One with the Body Swap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mini fic prompt bechloe switching bodies? — sent by anonymous

“Okay, no,” Beca said, standing in Chloe’s closet and exploring the entirely too colorful clothing options, “None of this shit is what I signed up for.” 

Chloe, leaning up against the door frame, tutted and walked into the space. “It’s not that bad,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to reach the highest shelf of clothes. Reaching for a few seconds, she grunted and gave up, looking at Beca with frustration. “At least you’re not stuck in the body of an elf.” 

“Watch it,” Beca muttered, punching Chloe lightly in the shoulder. 

“I said elf!” Chloe argued, holding her hands out, “S’better than troll.” 

Quickly, she turned back around, directing her attention on at the clothing shelf that she knew she could reach. After a moment’s consideration, she grabbed something red and black - the only shirt of that color that she had in the entire space. It was floral, admittedly, and sheer, but the deep red was the only hue of that color that could match with her hair, and the darkness of the colors was the only thing she could think of to make Beca semi-comfortable. When she threw the shirt at Beca, she turned to her skirts, picking out a black one that fanned out. 

Beca groaned when she saw it, whining when it was handed to her. 

“It’ll be okay,” Chloe said mockingly, tapping Beca lightly on the shoulder. “Now change.” 

Beca stood there for a few seconds, biting her lip, until finally, “Uh, aren’t you gonna…?” She pointed to the door, blushing when she saw Chloe’s grin. 

“It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before, Becs,” she said, and with a wink she added, “Besides, any indecency you feel should be totes erased by the fact that I showered this morning. Experiencing all of  _this_ ,” she motioned over her body (err, Beca’s body) with a wiggle of her hips, “In all of it’s glory.” 

“Goddamnit, Beale,” Beca muttered, throwing her pajama shirt off quickly with her back to the other girl, despite the lack of logic around the move. “If I figure out anything’s different when I get back to being me…”

“Nothing’s different!” Chloe said, “Just, yunno, maybe less tense that you were before.” 

“Ew,” Beca said, fumbling with the clasp on her bra, “That’s disgusting.” 

“I’m joking,” Chloe said, turning Beca around to snap the front-clasping bra in place. Beca held her breath, looking down when the garment was in place. 

“Hmm,” she said thoughtfully, considering something for a moment. 

“What?” Chloe asked, her tone rising to curiosity. 

“Nothing,” Beca said quickly, bending down to pick up the shirt, “I just didn’t realize they were this big. You hide ‘em well, Beale.” 

Chloe, had she been in her actual body, wouldn’t have blushed at the comment. But, with Beca’s body came her instincts, and she felt a flush across her cheeks. “You’re one to talk,” she said, motioning down, “I mean, seriously, I don’t know where you’ve kept these for the entirety of our friendship but…. _helllo_.” 

Beca smiled slightly, pulling the skirt up over her pajama shorts, “Shut up, you knew they were there. You’re a starer, Chlo.” 

Chloe squeaked in protest, crossing her arms when Beca let out a laugh as she wiggled out of her shorts. In an effort to push the blush down from her cheeks, Chloe took a breath, standing up straighter. It was weird, and didn’t quite fit the body she was in, but she assumed that the dress she’d put on earlier without thinking about Beca’s normal apparel already made her entire appearance seem just slightly off. Besides the light makeup she put on her face, playing with the new angles in the ways she always wished Beca would let her do. 

“Well, I don’t have to stare anymore,” she said easily, her voice a confident hum, “I’d say this counts as more than just peeking.” 

Beca rolled her eyes. The shirt was rumpled as she tried to tuck it into her skirt, so Chloe reached out to help, and when they were done, Beca rushed out of the closet and into the bathroom. 

“What the fuck is all of this shit?” she said, her voice breaking as it got higher in a way she wasn’t used to. Chloe peeked in, grinning. 

“Makeup, Becs,” she drawled, slinking into the room. “With all the eyeliner you normally cake on, I didn’t think you’d be so surprised.” 

“Whatever,” Beca responded, reaching for a skin-toned powder and opening it upside down so that it ended up all over the sink. “Fuck me.” 

“It’s funny, because I have,” Chloe said, grinning, “In this body and in that one.” 

“Will you stop with the jokes?” Beca said, her voice rising to that high pitch again. She winced when it got to a certain note, turning to Chloe instead of the face in the mirror. “I’m literally looking at another human being inside of my body, and all you can think about is masturbation jokes,” she said, “Some help would be nice.” 

“If you had help then it wouldn’t be ma–” 

“Chloe!” 

“Okay,” she said, rushing to Beca’s side, “Okay, okay. Sorry. Just, yunno, this is weird for me too,” she admitted. Picking up a bottle of foundation, she dabbed some on the side of the back of her hand, reaching for a brush. She tapped Beca’s shoulder for her to turn and face her, then stood on her tip toes. 

It was like looking into the most high def mirror money could buy, and Chloe tutted when she reached certain beauty marks and oncoming problem pores. Lightly, she touched her scar, considering. 

“You didn’t think about it once?” she asked, dabbing the makeup onto Beca’s face. Beca’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Come on, you woke up in my body. You didn’t once think, ‘Hmm, I guess I’ll look down?’” 

“No,” Beca said, pulling away from Chloe for just a moment. Chloe put down the foundation, reaching for the eyeliner. “I was mostly just scared that you were in my body forcing me to perform your daily morning run.” 

“Well,” Chloe hummed, pressing the eyeliner to Beca’s waterline. “You’re gonna be sore tomorrow.” 

“Fuck that,” Beca said, “Here’s hoping you’re in that body for more than just today.” 

“I guess I have to agree,” Chloe said, causing Beca to pull back again. She looked down, grinning. “I mean, what’s better than getting to  _be_ in your hot bod and  _watch_ mine?? You really have an unfair advantage most days, Becs.” 

Beca rolled her eyes, snatching the eyeliner and turning back towards the mirror to apply it herself. “I’m done with you,” she said in a huff, “Any more jokes and I’m showing up to your job interview in 100% Beca Mitchell gear. So, out.” 

“Yeesh,” Chloe said with her hands up. She walked out of the bathroom, shouting behind her, “I guess being a morning person is more about psychology than biology, huh?” 

“Adding another inch of eyeliner now, Beale!” Beca shot back from behind the closed door in retaliation, causing Chloe to just laugh and realize how different it felt coming from the body of a girl who kept it held in so much more. 


	133. The One with the Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> omg i am obsessed with your minifics they are incredible. could you do a nightmare one with one of them comforting the other bc i am complete trash for bechloe fluff fluff fluff. i love your writing!!!! keep doing you :))) — sent by anonymous

They talked about Beca’s sleeping habits. Of course, Chloe noticed long before they actually had the conversation how Beca would have dark circles under her eyes most days that she tried to cover with enough eyeliner for two people. She noticed how Beca snapped when things got stressful, and how sometimes she would send text messages at five in the morning before Chloe woke up for her morning run that made it clear that Beca hadn’t slept yet. Her insomnia was apparent to someone who knew her well enough to see the subtle changes, and when Beca confessed that it was only when Chloe was around that she slept soundly, Chloe wasn’t surprised so much as she was touched. 

The nightmares, though, weren’t ever part of the discussion. Largely because Beca had made it through several nights of solid sleep without one nightmares creeping into her head. Only, now, as she was tossing in her sleep, her eyes squished closed but still able to let out occasional sobs, Chloe didn’t know what to do. Because this was uncharted and undiscussed territory, and while she was happy Beca was sleeping, she couldn’t exactly handle the pain of watching the other woman sob so openly in her sleep. 

“Beca,” she whispered, wiping a tear from Beca’s cheek. The other girl shuddered, gasping, but remained sleeping. “Beca, Sweets, wake up. Becs…” 

Beca’s eyes shot open as she shot up, sitting stick-straight in bed and wheezing for air. 

“Shhhhh,” Chloe said, crawling to sit on her knees and cautiously putting a hand on Beca’s shoulder. “Shhhh, Becs, it’s okay. It was a dream.” 

“N-n-no,” Beca said. Her voice was harsh, raspy, feeling as red as her eyes. “N-n-o, Chloe, no.” 

“Yes,” Chloe cooed, moving her hand from Beca’s shoulder to her hair. 

“It was so real,” Beca rasped. She turned, falling into Chloe’s arms and sobbing just as she had in her dream. “It was so real.” 

“I know,” Chloe said, her hands immediately catching Beca, brushing over her hair as she pressed lips to Beca’s temple. “I know. It’s okay. You’re okay. It’s okay.” 

“Chloe,” Beca said between breaths, repeating it in a slight whisper. It broke Chloe - tearing her to pieces and refusing to give even a second to rebuild again. Because seeing Beca without walls was one thing, but seeing her so cracked that she couldn’t even think of putting walls up was an entirely different beast. It hurt, but more than that, it ached. The hazy kind of uncertain ache. Chloe wasn’t sure if this was her own bad dream, waking her up from a reality of sleeping to put her in this middle-of-the-night sob-session that was bringing tears to her eyes. 

“I know, Babe,” she said, her voice a whisper. “I know. Shhhh.” 

“Becs,” she said after a few moments, pulling Beca off of her. She looked into Beca’s eyes, wiping the tears away with her thumb. “It was a dream. A dream.” 

“I don’t know how,” Beca said. 

“Do you want to sing?” Chloe said, her hands still on Beca’s cheeks. “Do you want me to sing?” 

Beca nodded, her face cracking again so that her bottom lip trembled into another sob. Chloe immediately pulled her closer again, rocking her back and forth. 

“ _I’m bulletproof,”_ she started, feeling Beca’s breath immediately soften, “ _Got nothin’ to lose. Fire away, fire away.”_

 _“Ricochet, you take your aim,”_ Beca chimed in, her voice weak and cracking so that she was mostly just speaking the words in the saddest tone Chloe had heard. Then, together, they picked up, 

“ _Fire away, fire away.”_

 _“_ Can you keep singing?” Beca said after a moment of silence. She moved back to lay down, her hands guiding Chloe’s to move around her waist. 

“Yeah,” Chloe said, “Yeah, of course.” 

“Thank you,” Beca said weakly, “And Chloe?”

“Hmm?” 

“Please don’t…” she paused for a moment, “Just don’t leave, alright?” 


	134. The One With the Chloe Freak Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You do mini fics? I'd love to see Chloe being completely un-Chloe and freaking the freak out right before her first date with Beca and the girls have to calm her down and help her get ready and look smashing for the midget DJ :) — sent by thatblokematti

It would be wrong to call the current freak-out Chloe was participating in “un-Chloe”. Because the Bellas had worked with her for three and a half years and had grown familiar with the unique blow-up that Chloe engaged in at least once a year before ICCAs. This, however, was different. First, in the fact that the championships were months away, and second, in the fact that her aca-freak out weren’t exactly based on the floor on her closet surrounded by a pile of clothes with nothing but a towel on. 

“Chloe,” Stacie tried, knocking on the door, “Come up, open up.” 

Amy tapped Stacie’s shoulder, motioning for her to move so that she could be closer to the door. “Hey, is this because you’re just realizing you’re a ginger?” she said, her voice feigning softness, “Because there are dyes for that.” 

“Go away,” Chloe muttered, throwing a pair of mismatched socks at the door. 

“Chloe,” Stacie said again, nudging Amy out of the way, “It’s not a big deal. You’ve known each other for years. She’s seen you  _literally_ rolling around in mud and your own sweat.” 

“Gah,” Chloe squeaked, “That’s  _not_ helping!” 

“Okay,” CR piped in, “Open the doors, and we can actually help. Come on, Red.” 

The other girls all voiced their sounds of agreement and assent, waiting patiently at the sound of shuffling that occurred behind the closed doors. Emerging from the shadows of the closet, Chloe stood in front of them with watery eyes and pink cheeks. 

“I don’t have  _anything_ to wear!” she exclaimed, her voice rising to a crack at the end of the sentiment. Her hands were flailing around uselessly, and her lip was trembling. 

“Oh hush,” CR muttered, stepping into the closet, “You’re the only Bella with a walk-in closet. You have  _something_ in here.” 

“And if you don’t,” Stacie said, “Then don’t wear anything.” 

“Stace!” Chloe said, “I’m dying here!” 

“You’re  _not_ dying,” Amy said, putting a hand on her shoulder, “Except we’re all dying. Every second is another wasted moment.” 

The glare that Chloe sent Amy was enough to pull her hand off her shoulder, silently mouthing the word “okay” to the rest of the room before stepping back. 

“This,” Stacie said, pulling out a bright blue sundress, “This is perfect.” 

“That,” Chloe said, “Is  _so_ last season.” 

“It’s Beca. You really think that matters?” CR argued, and Chloe snatched the dress from Stacie’s hands, immediately slipping it on over her towel. As she struggled to take the towel off under the garment, Stacie clapped her hands. 

“Now, for your face,” she said excitedly, “I’ve got plans.” 

“And I call hair duty,” CR added, following Stacie out to the bathroom. 

When they were all stuffed into the bathroom - Chloe sitting on the toilet and Stacie sitting on the sink, hunched over enough to start applying eyeliner - CR jumped back. “Girl, your hands are clammier than a beach at high tide.” 

Chloe groaned, pulling back and nearly messing up the perfect application of eyeliner Stacie was performing. 

“Not to mention,” Stacie pulled Chloe’s face back sharply with two fingers, “That her heart is hammering out of her chest.” 

“Yeesh, Ginge, you  _do_ realize you’ve already seen Beca Mitchell naked?” 

Chloe resisted the urge to pull away again, using her eyes to send another glare at Amy. “You really think that helps the nerves, Ames?” 

“Okay,” Stacie said, pulling Chloe’s eyes back to her, “Chill, Red. Breathe. In for four, hold for seven, out for four.” 

Chloe nodded slightly, following the directions. By the time Stacie made it to her lipglass, though, her knee starting shaking again. CR put her hand on the knee to stop it, looking pointedly at Stacie. 

“Chlo,” she said, “Beca’s toner for you is epic.” 

“Yeah,” Jessica added from behind them. 

“So put on your big girl panties and make that chick blush so hard that the waiter has to personally ask her if she needs to be excused.” 

“I can’t…” Chloe took a deep breath, “It’s not that easy, guys. She’s…she’s… _Beca.”_

She said her name so reverently, it could’ve been a call of worship. The Bellas could see how it almost glossed over her eyes, just the mention of the date. Stacie squeezed her hand, sighing and sitting forward more. 

“Right,” she said, “Beca. Beca Mitchell. Personal soulmate and love of your life.” 

“Chloe, you two were made for each other,” Amy added, “And you’ve been dating for three and a half years already.” 

“So woo her,” CR said, “Woo her and remember that if you do something stupid, she’s going to worship you for it.” 

“Yeah,” Stacie added, “Because you’ve got her so wrapped around your finger that I would think she’s a professional gymnast.” 

“And maybe she is,” Amy said with a wink, “But you’re gonna find that one out for us.” 

“Thanks, Amy,” Chloe said, rolling her eyes. She looked down at her nails, realizing only then that she should’ve painted them before they started this whole process. Stacie noticed the worry enter her face again, and she took Chloe’s hand, covering up the bitten nails. 

“You’re hot,” she said simply, squeezing Chloe’s hand. 

“Yeah, I am,” Chloe said, nodding. She took a breath, her brows furrowing in determination. “Yeah,” she repeated, “I am.” 

“Yeah!” CR said, starting a round of encouraging applause. The other Bellas joined in easily, and Chloe found herself smiling. 

“So go get ‘em,” Stacie said when Chloe stood up. Amy slapped her ass and Chloe jumped, looking back surprised. 

“Go!” Amy reiterated, and Chloe nodded again, rushing out the door. 

“You’ll do great!” CR shouted out of the room. She turned to the other girls and they watched Chloe race out the front door a few minutes later. “When’s she gonna realize she forgot to bring Beca?” 

The redhead turned around quickly, headed back inside where the girls could hear slight murmurings. 

“She’ll do fine,” Stacie said, reassuring herself more than anyone else. Amy moved to wipe an invisible tear from her eye as the two girls went outside, opening the doors to her car. 

“Look at our babies, all grown up and exploring their sexual identity,” she said, and Stacie patted her back. 

“They grow up so quickly,” she added, until CR tutted, lightly tapping the back of her head and they all walked out of the bathroom they were cramped in, situating themselves on the couch and setting up post for curfew, when the two were expected home…approximately three hours from now. 


	135. The One with Football

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> could you do a bechloe football au/minific please? — sent by anonymous

Beca wasn’t entirely sure how she managed it. Dolled up in class with not a hair out of place, the wrinkles in her sundress perfectly managed, Chloe Beale hardly seemed like the type of girl to start an all-girls football team. Let alone be the star quarterback. Nonetheless, there was something about her that made the rest of the school not question it, bringing the sport - and the team, and the players - into school-celebrity status. Beca thought a touch of it was confidence, the ability to make people just naturally assume you are capable because  _you_ naturally assume that you are capable. The rest of it, she chalked up to pure Chloe Beale magic - she looked enough like a fairy, that it wouldn’t even surprise Beca. 

And while she was never much into football, only dealing with it on visits to her grandpa’s for Thanksgiving, she joined the entire school on Saturday nights and Sunday afternoons to watch the Barden Bellas play, because it was fun and intense and  _smart._ They all played _smart_ , choosing precisely where to put their feet and calculating the exact distance of the ball upon landing. There was strategy to it, and, although Aubrey Posen seemed to be the mastermind behind all the plays, Beca more than once considered the possibility the Chloe sat on the field and came up with the intricate execution plans on her own. Because that’s just who Chloe Beale was: someone who could do anything, no questions asked. 

“You should join,” Beca heard from behind her as she walked through the Activities Fair, stationed on the very field that she looked semi-longingly at most weekend nights. She didn’t know exactly how Chloe’s voice sounded apart from a few muffled shouts she’d heard coming from the field, but there was something in her that knew, instinctively, that it was the star quarterback calling her out. There was a lilt to her voice, high and piercing and perched atop itself, somehow - it was exactly how Beca imagined it, and, up until that moment, she hadn’t realized that she’d imagined it at all. 

“What?” she said, turning around to meet bright blue eyes that the lights of the stadium never did much to enhance. She swallowed quickly, trying to fight the butterflies in her stomach. 

“You should join,” Chloe repeated slowly, handing a flier to Beca, “We’re looking for some new players, and you look like you could kick butt.” 

She said it with a wink, and Beca stuttered out a response, taking the flier. “I-I’m hardly football material,” she gestured at herself, “Tiny and runningback don’t exactly fit together.” 

“Sure,” Chloe said, stepping out from behind the table that Aubrey had stationed her at, “But that’s what they always say about girl leagues, anyway. And we’ve done pretty well at proving them wrong.” 

“I don’t think so,” Beca said as she held out her hand to decline the offer, “Thanks, though.” 

“Wait!” Chloe shouted, and Beca turned around. She was still out from behind the table, jogging lightly to reach Beca. “Think about it,” she said. Her eyes were glowing. 

“Why?” 

“Because,” Chloe said easily, “I see you in the stands, silly. You wanna try to be your own superstar for once?” 

“Uh, you don’t know who my superstars are,” Beca said defensively, backing up. 

“Let me guess,” Chloe said, tapping her chin, “Some obscure music man, some obscure film-maker, and some obscure….artist? Oh, and me. The less-than-obscure quarterback.” 

Beca blushed, looking down. “I’m not really one for film,” she said. She bit her lip, feeling Chloe’s gaze on her. It’s like her smile had some effect on her - as if Chloe’s “I can do anything” confidence was passable via the virus of her grin. Beca could feel it surging in her veins, and it took a second to quell it down. 

“I don’t hear….any other…denials,” Chloe said carefully, this time biting her lip to keep from smiling wildly. Beca shook her head quickly, turning around again. 

“I’m really fine,” she said with her head down, “Maybe next year…or something.” 

“Try-outs are this week,” Chloe shouted from behind her, “Tuesday, at 4:30. Cant wait to see you there!” 

As Beca walked away, she was smiling too, shaking her head, and it felt good having someone be so completely certain of your actions before you are. It felt right, though Beca wasn’t one to address that. So she held up her hand, waving from behind at the redhead that was shouting out at her, asking for her to try a little harder in a way Beca never could’ve dreamed would happen. 

 


	136. The One With the Cuddle-Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minific prompt: Beca is really a total cuddle monster and Chloe loves it. They cuddle all day long. — sent by anonymous

It wasn’t something Beca really wanted the world to know. Or, like, anyone for that matter. 

She fostered the image of herself with crossed arms and perpetually rolling eyes. And half of it was because she liked the idea of herself as someone who was cold, antsy, and standoffish. The other half was because she preferred being hard than being soft enough to get bruised, which inevitably meant as limited physical contact as she had emotional contact. 

Chloe, though, pushed her. Pulled her. Guided and goaded her into this world where being soft was better than okay - it was welcomed, and warm, and  _right._ And Beca found that when she entered this particular Bealian world, she liked it…no, she  _loved_ it. She craved it, seeking it out as much as she could. 

Her favorite times were when she felt like she couldn’t stand, the weight of her neck seeming to be impossibly heavy. She liked the feeling of leaning on someone, nuzzling into their chest and somehow finding a way to transfer the weight over - the share the heaviness of the day while still garnering the warmth of someone else’s hand trailing up and down her arm. They were Sundays, when the day seemed long for no reason, or Tuesdays, when the week slipped by impossibly slowly. She had a full belly of ice cream or homemade pasta, maybe a glass of wine or two, and smeared eyeliner. Chloe smelled like cleaning supplies or crayons from work, and she was impossibly soft. Impossibly ready for Beca to sit in her arms. 

A close second, though, was on the Saturdays, when they both had nothing to do and nowhere to go. They would start the day with breakfast on the couch, plugging in a particular television show and shifting in position rarely throughout the day until the sun set and they were ready to dance while making a midnight dinner, or some other variation of missed-daily-activity. Because it was the only time her mind was slow enough to accept such relaxation, held tightly by Chloe’s perfectly manicured lime-green nails and the smell of her leave-in conditioner. It was the only time she felt like she could sit still, and she never really realized how much she needed to until she did. 

Chloe’s favorite time was in the mornings, before Beca woke up, as the sun streamed through the windows and she counted the freckles on the other girl’s shoulder. Because Beca breathed out in short, sleepy puffs, her lips slightly puckered, and there was no crease in her eyebrow. She was smooth, in her breathing and in her living and in her lying, and Chloe felt like she could  _swim_ in it all. But she chose instead to wait another few minutes before getting up, enjoying the warmth of Beca asleep and the way their cheeks were rosy from being pressed against the pillow. 

She liked it, too, when they were with friends, and Beca leaned into her, ever conscious of the string that held them tightly together as they traveled throughout the universe. She liked it when Beca reached for her hand, or sat so close that their legs were touching. She liked it when Beca rested her head on Chloe’s shoulder, or her lap, or the base of her back, just to feel like she was connected in some way. She liked it because Beca was supposed to be so hard, and she’d found where she was soft. She liked it because she knew that Beca did, and there was something special to being the one allowed to hold her up when she couldn’t. 

So they cuddled, daily and nightly, arms wrapped around each other and heads tilted to rest on one another, because they both needed it, and because it seemed like there was nothing better to do anyway. They cuddled, and Chloe would giggle, saying something about Beca and her “cuddlemonster powers” and Beca would growl or grunt or scowl, but she’d burrow herself more, because that’s what she wanted to do, and, at least with Chloe, she wasn’t in the habit of denying herself that pleasure. 

“Sometimes,” Beca said one night as they sat outside on the porch, Chloe wrapped around her, “I think that our hearts beat at the same time.” 

Chloe rested her chin on Beca’s shoulder. “Yeah,” she breathed, “I feel that too.” 

“Hmmm,” Beca hummed, her head thrown back to rest on Chloe. “It’s a solid beat.” 

“Yeah,” Chloe responded. “Yeah, it is.” 


	137. The One With Tumblr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt idea : beca is a tumblr girl and is always pulling pranks on her unsuspecting girlfriend Chloe so beca can get notes, but the only ones that actually do are cute pictures of the two of them that Chlo posts from Beca's tumblr while she's sleeping and Beca's slightly irritated about that cause "IM SUPPOSED TO BE A COOL TUMBLR KID CHLOE" but she secretly loves it — sent by anonymous

It started with a hidden phone and a video which involved Beca’s girlfriend and a hilariously disastrous glowstick performance. And, because her followers were particularly curious about this new redheaded development in her love life, she decided to post it on Tumblr. 

She wasn’t sure when, exactly, she delved into the dangerous and addicting world of Tumblr. She just knew that, at some point, the infinite scroll of her dashboard ate up entirely too much of her free time. She used it as a break from her mixes, because sometimes the music became a touch too loud and the sound waves all blurred together, so the comfort of the website’s ridiculousness was just enough to give her a mind a break. 

Typically, Chloe loved Beca’s obsession. There was something fascinating about her friends from across the country or overseas, and most of their petty arguments could be settled by presenting a poll to the anons that frequented her inbox. While she never really understood the website - using it only for recipe scouting and photos of pretty people posing in front of windows - she loved it when Beca screenshotted a post to send to her, or texted her a link to something, all with the caption, “This made me think of you”. Because even in Beca’s safe space of blue and white screens, Chloe was on her mind. 

So, yes, typically Chloe loved Beca’s obsession. Now, though, she was less than thrilled with the online neighborhood Beca had fostered. Sure, the tags on the post were all variations of positive hyperventilation, but, really, she was  _good_ at glow-sticking, and she felt that every aspect of that video misrepresented her practiced talent. Not to mention, the amount of notes the video received was enough to spur some kind of sparkle in Beca’s eye, so that throughout the month, Chloe would notice strange parts of their daily life shifting and found Beca’s phone filming it all.

There was the magic water bottle trick, which resulted in Chloe being extremely grateful for her waterproof mascara and a video of her squealing so loud she was sure her doctor would disapprove. Another “gem” (according to Beca) was when the girl stayed inside a cupboard for more than a half an hour for Chloe to come home - a scene that ended in Chloe probably shaving ten years off of her life. Beca’s favorite, though, was the times when she would blurt something out, her camera positioned in just the right place to catch Chloe’s reaction. It started with an Oscar award winning announcement of Beca’s nodes - which made Chloe cry and necessitated the camera being turned off so that Beca could properly comfort Chloe and explain the joke. Then, of course, there was the “I’m pregnant” one, which really shouldn’t have warranted such a reaction from Chloe, but, you know, she’d been trained to hear those words and immediately assume the worst. 

What Chloe found, though, when she traversed onto the sacred URL, was that the videos didn’t get as many notes as she would’ve thought considering all the torture she’d been put through for them. In fact, the things that got the most notes were the things that Beca never actually posted herself. See, Chloe had gotten into the habit of taking photos of Beca before she woke up - never in a creepy way, just with the intention of capturing the make-upless face of a dreaming Beca Mitchell - and when she took the first one, pre-morning-run when she’d assumed Beca had only been sleeping for about an hour, it was so perfect with the sunrise seeping in that she couldn’t  _not_ share it. Facebook was out of the question, seeing as Beca’s parents didn’t exactly know about their change in relationship status, and Twitter was a beast that Chloe didn’t even come close to understanding. So she texted the photo to Beca’s phone, plugging in the passcode that she’d grown more than familiar with, and posted the photo to tumblr with the caption, “I couldn’t help myself - The Girlfriend”. 

It wasn’t exactly a nightly thing as much as it was a weekly or biweekly thing, because once Chloe took one photo, she couldn’t find the will power to resist the urge to take more, and she noticed that more often that not, the weeks that passed without her taking the photos would result in anon messages requesting the “Bedtime Beca Update”. And while Beca grumbled everytime she saw something new posted, she never changed her phone password or her username on the site, so Chloe assumed there was an ounce of her that loved the attention she got from the innocent photos. That was, of course, before she reached out one night to wrap her arms around Beca only to be pushed away. 

“No cuddles,” Beca said sternly, pulling the blanket up higher. “You’re lucky I’m still sleeping in the same bed as you.” 

Chloe tried again, reaching an arm out and being shoved back. “Becs, you’re ridiculous.”

“I’m not the one corrupting the sacred nature of bed time by posting pictures on very public social media accounts,” Beca muttered, and Chloe chuckled, flipping onto her back. 

“Beca, you love it,” she said, and then turned back to the other girl, “And so do I. Because I would stop, but you’re just too gosh darn beautiful.” 

Beca rolled her eyes, her arms crossed tighter. “I’m supposed to be the cool tumblr girl, Chlo!” she said, but Chloe couldn’t help laughing at the incredulous expression furrowed on Beca’s brow. 

“Awww,” she said, reaching out to smooth the wrinkle between Beca’s eyebrows, “And adorable puppy dog of a girlfriend doesn’t do it for you?” 

“No,” Beca grunted, though she leaned into Chloe’s touch. “I mean, it does. Here. When there’s not a camera and 1,000 followers involved.” 

Chloe leaned over Beca, placing a kiss on her temple. “What if I wanna show off,” she said, “the fact that I have a gorgeous girl in my bed?” 

Beca sighed, but there was a grin on her face and she turned to meet Chloe’s body in the middle, tracing a finger on her collarbone. “Then learn how to use your own goddamn tumblr.” 

Chloe grabbed Beca’s hand, stilling the line she was drawing. “There’s no fun in that,” she whined, kissing Beca’s knuckles, “And you can’t pretend for one second you don’t love it.” 

Beca frowned, but the minute she met Chloe’s eyes, the frown became a grin. “First my in-person badass reputation and now my online one?” she said, tutting in a dramatic way, “You’ll ruin me, Chloe Beale.” 

Chloe hummed, satisfied. “That’s the plan, Mitchell. That’s the plan.” 


	138. The One with the Running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe wants Beca to go running with her in the mornings. Just for a week. But Beca won't do it without getting something in return. And they're adorable together as they come up with their deal. — sent by anonymous

“No fucking way,” Beca cackled when Chloe leaned over her shoulder, pressing a kiss to Beca’s temple and asking her in very polite terms to go running with her. 

“Come  _on_ , Beca,” Chloe whined, spinning Beca in the chair she sat in by her desk so that she faced her. “Just this week.” 

“Not a fucking chance, Chlo!” Beca said. Her grin was still wide on her face, as if Chloe was pulling some kind of prank on her and she was waiting for the cameras to appear. “You’re joking, right? You’re totally joking. Because…like…Chlo,” she paused to give Chloe a look, “I don’t  _do_ running. Remember? ‘Don’t put me down for cardio’ and all that?” 

Chloe rolled her eyes and licked her lips. “I’ve been able to prove that cardio thing wrong,” she said, smirking at the blush that crept up Beca’s face. Quickly, though, Beca wiped away the daze, shaking her head and refocusing. 

“No,” she said, leaning forward to kiss Chloe lightly before turning back around. “You’ve been running on your own for years anyway, this hardly seems like a necessary discussion.” 

“Ugh, Becaaaa,” Chloe said, throwing herself onto the bed, “I get so _oooo_  lonelyyy. And besides, you  _told_ me you wanted to take better care of yourself.” 

“Yeah,” Beca said, “I meant, like, drinking smoothies and switching to frozen yogurt. Not killing myself trying to keep up with speedy gonzales here.” 

“I’m not that fast,” Chloe argued, sitting back up, “Come on, what do I have to do to convince you?” 

“Agree to let me drive along side you?” Beca said. She turned back to Chloe, who was still sprawled across the bed in her gym clothes. There were bite marks on her pen cap, but she stuck it in her mouth anyway. 

“Not fair,” Chloe pointed, “I’m serious.” 

“So am I,” Beca answered, “It’s either that or you drug me.” 

“Hmmm,” Chloe said. “Okay, what if instead, I promise you we’ll go to your favorite pie place afterwards? On me?” 

“Ha,” Beca grunted, “Like you can buy my time with  _pie._ Really, Chlo, you know it’s gonna take more than that to convince me to  _run_ with you.” 

“We take off this weekend - like, completely - and go to my boss’ townhouse by the beach?” Chloe offered, but Beca was already spinning back in her chair. 

“You’re not gonna find something,” she said, focusing on her work again. “Sweat and outside and me…sorry, babe, but it’s a hard pass.” 

“Fine,” Chloe said, shifting on the bed to stand up. She ran her hands over Beca’s shoulders, leaning down when Beca put her pen down to lean back. “I’ll go alone, like I always do. But when you turn on the news to see that a runner’s been abducted in the woods in the late afternoon, just know that it’s all your fault.” 

Beca rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to be abducted,” she said easily, pressing her forehead to Chloe’s arm. “Mmm, why go running at all? You should take the afternoon off too.” 

Chloe tutted, slapping Beca lightly on the forehead. “Soooo not the point here, Becs,” she said, turning towards the bathroom to check on her ponytail again. While pulling the rubber band tighter, she pursed her lips, glancing into the bedroom at her girlfriend who was staring intently at her computer screen. Beca wasn’t a runner, that much was made clear not far into her friendship with the woman when Aubrey turned a bright red at her insistence to stay away from all things physical. Still, there was a litheness to her form that implied  _some_ kind of athletic ability, and Chloe never asked, but the girl was entirely too capable of keeping up with the Bellas’ old routines for someone who never once participated in exercise. There was a past there, Chloe could tell, and while she wasn’t one who particularly enjoyed pushing Beca (which, okay, was a total lie that not even Chloe could convince herself was true), Beca’s current health was at stake. If she couldn’t win on the front of sleeping or eating, then this, at the very least, would have to give. 

“Beca,” she said, this time with a completely different tone - one that was hushed, flushed, and drew Beca’s attention immediately. “You’re sure nothing could convince you?” 

Beca’s eyes widened, then narrowed, suspicious. “N-no,” she said, then shook her head. “I mean yes. Yeah, I’m sure.” 

“Hmmm, that’s too bad,” Chloe said. She trailed her fingers over the edge of the dresser, walking closer to her girlfriend. “Because I really wanted to show you my warm down.” 

Beca swallowed. “Your warm down?” she said, her voice less certain. Chloe nodded, sitting on the bed and crossing her legging-clad legs. 

“Yeah, well,” she said, chuckling mischieviously to herself, “I guess I should call it a warm  _up._ Since…you know…it doesn’t exactly cool me down. But…” she shrugged, sighing dramatically and standing again. “It’s no matter. You said you don’t wanna do it, and I’ve gotta respect that.” 

Halfway out the door, she heard the wheels of Beca’s desk chair turn. “Chloe? Wait just, uh,” when she stood up, she rammed her thighs into the edge of the desk accidentally and winced at the pain that shot up her legs. “Shit. Sorry. Just lemme get changed, yeah?” 

Chloe squealed, losing her composure completely to jump up and down, clapping. “Of course! I’ll get you a waterbottle!” she raced across the room to hug Beca, who was already crouched to the bottom drawer to pick out some variation of her old Bella rehearsal outfits. 

“Thank you sooooo much, Babe,” she said, kissing Beca lightly on the cheek. “You won’t regret it.” 

“Tell that to my impending heart attack,” Beca muttered, but Chloe pretended she couldn’t hear it, nearly skipping out of the room. 


	139. The One With the Tickles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> please do a cute fluffy tickle fic: Chloe finds out becas super ticklish and uses it against her — sent by anonymous

In Chloe’s defense, the revelation that Beca was the most ticklish girl alive was something that she happened upon  _accidentally._ Sure, she shouldn’t have been poking the other girl in the ribs when they were working on a Bella Bonding dinner of spaghetti and meatballs, but how was she supposed to predict that Beca was so ticklish she’d throw a spoon of red spaghetti sauce all the way across the kitchen at the slightest touch? 

That wasn’t a claim that the other Bellas readily accepted, though, when they learned they had to pay $200 in damages to get the living room wall repainted and the frames repaired. 

Despite all their grumblings and rumblings, Chloe thought the content of the new discovery was well worth the money spent on paint and more room decorations. Because, sure, she knew that Beca’s personal space was important to her because of privacy and comfort level et cetera et cetera, but Chloe suspected that she might be opposed to physical contact in small part because a feather could send her into a flinching fit of giggles. And Chloe’s permanent goal over the past few years of her life had been to break Beca’s facade from badass stone-cold DJ extraordinaire to giggling kitten of a human being, so, naturally, this realization played an important part in her overall life mission. 

This was why she’d taken to exploring every area wherein Beca might be the most ticklish. She started with the feet, plucking them up and putting them in her lap when they watched television. Idly, she ran her fingers over the toes until Beca flinched suddenly, pulling back. “Hands to yourself, Beale,” she muttered, crunching on another potato chip and never once taking her eyes off the screen. 

She then moved to the small of Beca’s back, obliging when Beca called her to zip up the dress they’d picked out for one of their sets. She put her hands lightly on the girl’s hips, ghosting her knuckles over the hills of her spine, which resulted in Beca hissing and turning away suddenly, wiggling. “On second thought,” she said, “I’ve got this.” 

The most ticklish spot by far, though, was her neck, as Beca hardly let Chloe go near that area when she was carefully twisting and pulling the ends of Beca’s hair into an updo during a study session in her room. Chloe noticed the way she sighed - or gasped, really - and tried to discreetly wiggle out of Chloe’s grasp. There were goosebumps at the nape of her neck, and Chloe giggled when she saw them. 

“What?” Beca muttered, trying to scoot away slightly while still looking at her textbook. 

“Nothing,” Chloe answered easily, putting both hands on Beca’s shoulders. “I just feel like you’re a little tense. Do you….need a neck rub?”

“What?” Beca said more hurriedly this time, turning quickly to face Chloe, “N-no, I’m good. Super duper.” 

“Hmmm,” Chloe said, biting her lip. “Just a little one won’t hurt,” she decided, pressing her thumbs into the nape of Beca’s neck. Beca let out a squeal, shivering involuntarily before snapping her jaw shut. 

“Chlo,” she said, “Not funny.” 

“Oh really?” Chloe whispered, her lips near Beca’s ear and pushing out a breath that further the tickle. She pressed her thumbs in again, and this time Beca jerked, completely dislodging Chloe’s hands in the process. She let out a meager squeak, looking scared. 

“You’re ticklish,” Chloe determined with a grin, causing Beca to roll her eyes. 

“No duh,” Beca answered, “But if you keep that up you’re gonna end up with a black eye. I’m not responsible for what I do when people tickle me.” 

“I’ll be fine.” 

“Mmmm nope,” Beca responded, scooting away completely to rest her head safely on the wall. “No this is for your own protection.” 

“Whatever,” Chloe grinned. She moved forward on all fours, leering at the girl up against the wall until she could reach out and grab her shoulders, pinching at the nerve there and causing Beca to break out into a gaggle of giggles that - had Chloe heard it in a different setting - wouldn’t ever be contributed to Beca, they sounded so out of character. “Because the tickle monster stops for no one.” 

“You,” Beca said, gasping and scrunching into a ball. Chloe immediately used the leverage to poke at her sides, “Did. Not,” she squealed, kicking her legs slightly, “Just. Call. Yourself. The. Ah!” Chloe turned, pining Beca to the bed, “Tickle.Monster.” 

Chloe giggled too, just a breathless as Beca but determined to memorize the sound of the giggles she was letting out. It was strange, helpless, and beautiful in it’s vulnerability, but Chloe wasn’t much paying attention to how beautiful it was because there were tears streaming down Beca’s face and she was laughing so hard it hurt enough for her to ask for reprieve. 

“Okay! Okay!” she gasped out, but Chloe wasn’t stopping, “Uncle! I cry uncle! I’ll do whatever you want, Beale, just stop before I,” she kicked once, slamming Chloe’s hand down, “hurt you!” 

“Fine,” Chloe huffed, stilling her hands. Beca’s were rolled into fists, but they softened around Chloe’s waist when Chloe’s movements paused, and she breathed heavily. They sat there for a second, grinning goofily as they tried to catch their breaths before Chloe reached up to wipe away the tear from Beca’s eye. The other girl flinched when her hand came up, but Chloe eyed her and moved her hand slow enough to signal safety. 

“Giggles and tears in one night,” Chloe said with a grin, “My dear I think we’ve cracked her.” 

“You’re the one straddling me,” Beca muttered, “I think if anyone’s cracked here it’s you.” 

“Oh please,” Chloe said, throwing her leg over the side of the bed and slipping off, “Being straddled by Chloe Beale is enough to drive anyone insane.” 

Beca rolled her eyes. She sat up, ruffling through her hand and taking a few deep breaths before meeting Chloe’s winking eyes. “What?” 

“Nothing,” Chloe chirped, “Just…you promised me you’d do what I want in return for me stopping.” 

“You’re serious?” 

“Yep,” Chloe answered, popping the “p” at the end of the word. She spun around, about to leave the room.

“Aren’t you gonna tell me what I have to do?” Beca asked over her shoulder. Chloe chuckled, turning around once more. 

“I would,” she said, feigning dramatics, “But I don’t like to make you blush.” 

Despite her sentiment, her tone and suggestion were enough to cause Beca to flush anyway, which she silently cursed herself for, as Chloe started to laugh in response. “As for your task,” she said, “That’s for me to know and you to find out.” 

Beca watched Chloe leave, groaning and throwing herself back onto her pillow. Chloe Beale’s mission in life was to break Beca, and Beca’s fear was that it was, undeniably, working quite well. 


	140. The One With Long Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Chloe and Beca are in a long distance relationship, Beca is in LA. Chloe breaks up with Beca via Skype because she thinks she is holding her back or something like that and then Beca is visiting her and of course there will be a happy end :) — sent by anonymous

Chloe is direct. 

While it isn’t the first word Beca would use to describe the redhead, it’s one of the things she always tended to secretly appreciate about her. Because while social cues were hidden in text messages and the punctuations of emails, Chloe was always someone who preferred clarity, often at the expense of the other person’s comfort. This was one of the many reasons that the words she said through the roadmap of thousands of miles and terrible wifi hurt so much. 

Well, that and the fact that the words were words that Beca never thought she’d hear, said over crackled coughs of tears and sobs that Beca never thought she’d see. 

She thought, in that moment, that she would’ve rather it had been direct. While there was safety in the distance of their computer screens, Beca never could handle when Chloe cried, because her neck got red and blotchy and her eyes grew so wide that there was no way to resist reaching out and pulling her in to keep her safe from whatever hurt her. And now, Beca couldn’t reach out. She couldn’t even try, because the computer screen was cold and hard and unwilling to bend the laws of physics to bring her to the old, empty room of the apartment they shared in Georgia fresh out of graduation. 

“I don’t really understand,” she said. 

“I don’t think I can do this,” she said. 

“I miss you so much,” she said. 

But Chloe just choked on her words and shook her head, twisting the hem of her shirt until the end of each of Beca’s sentences. Then, she’d repeat herself. 

“You have your life. I have mine.” Like a chant. Like it was written on the inside of her palm. Like if she didn’t say it as a response to Beca’s pleas, she would forget too. “You have your life. I have mine.” Like if she said it long enough then it would become the right reason. 

And then, shared and sad and shattered, they both said, “I’m sorry” before logging off. 

And now, as Beca sits at the airport with her knee tapping out the tune to her rapidly beating heart, she looks at that same icon in the corner of her screen. The one that she has refused to press over the course of the months after the night that Chloe broke up with her. There’s a fear there, as if when she presses the button everything will pull back into itself and bring Beca back into that conversation, making her even more helpless than she was originally - even more incapable of voicing her side, of saying no, of fighting back. 

She covers the icon with the software she uses to edit, throwing on a mix that she hasn’t been able to get write. It’s been weeks, and the sound waves bounce nonsensically, refusing to match-up in a way that’s clean and concise. So she tries, her eyes focused on the screen until the announcer calls her flight to board, and then she’s up, counting the way the miles slip by and avoiding the way it all feels like she’s coming home. 

“Beca,” is what Chloe says when she opens the door to their apartment and finds the other girl stationed in front of it, sitting on her suitcase and playing a game on her phone. “I didn’t know you–” 

“Sorry,” Beca says, slipping the phone back into her back pocket, “I just. I was afraid to knock.” 

“So you thought you’d stand in front of my door and what? Watch for when I go out?” 

“Our door,” Beca says quietly, and she’s certain Chloe doesn’t hear it. “No,” she says a little louder. “No, I – I don’t know. I was just. Like. Working up the courage. Or whatever.” 

Chloe stands in the doorway, her arms crossed and her eyebrow raised, and there’s a weakness to it all despite the way she’s trying to uphold some sense of authority. There’s a crack in the facade, and Beca can almost see it, but if she gets closer to look then she’ll be close enough to touch, and she’s entirely certain that will be too much to resist. So instead she watches, noticing the way Chloe’s lip twitches ever so slightly, and the way her shirt is untucked, toe nail polish chipped. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. She turns around, her hand scratching her forehead, “I’m just going to go.” 

“No,” Chloe says quickly, and it’s an instinct more than a thought, but Beca can  _feel_ the urgency in it, and when she turns to see Chloe she can tell that it’s surprised even her. “Please,” she says in a quieter tone, “Please don’t.” 

So Beca stays. So they eat dinner. So they share a bottle of wine and so they laugh at the way their favorite take-out place has renamed all of their old favorites. So and so and so, the night goes, until Chloe looks at the clock, her face melting into some sort of disappointment. 

“You have work,” Beca says simply, looking down at her hands. “That’s cool. I’ll find a hotel or something.” 

“Beca,” Chloe says. It’s rid of the polite tones she’d been using throughout the night, and Beca can feel it again. Chloe Beale is direct. It’s what she loves about her. “Why are you here?” 

Beca shrugs. “I don’t know,” she says, and it’s as direct as she can manage - a thing Chloe acknowledges. “I miss you, Chlo. A lot.” 

“I miss you too” is the response, and it feels like enough. It feels like  _just_ enough. 

“I miss this,” Beca says. “And us. And I think we can fix it. I think we both want to.” 

“There was nothing to be fixed,” Chloe answers. “It was pre-emptive, Becs. You have your life. I have mine. It wouldn’t have worked.” 

“You don’t know that,” Beca says. “You don’t.” 

After a moment of pause, she tries again. “Did it feel wrong?” 

Chloe lets out a breath, letting it come out in a gust. “No,” she answers finally, “No it didn’t.” 

“Does it feel wrong now?” 

“No,” she says again. “It doesn’t.” 

Beca grabs Chloe’s hand. When Chloe squeezes it, she feels grounded. She feels certain. She feels tangible and present and okay. She thinks this is what the computer screen lacked - the warmth that is Chloe’s hand wrapped around her own. 

“I’m asking you to try,” Beca says. “And I’m asking you to stop being scared.” 

Chloe nods. 

“Can you do that?” 

And again, Chloe is direct. She is clear. She is not one to mince words. So she meets Beca’s eyes, and she takes a deep breath. And she says, “Yes”. 

And Beca trusts that it’s true. 


	141. The One With the Longboard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca teaches Chloe to longboard? And since Chloe is a good dancer, you'd expect her to have good balance but no... She falls on her butt. (Real life experience right there with the crush) Thanks, you're a bae — sent by potsticker1234

“I don’t know how you do this,” Chloe grunted when Beca rolled back to her on the longboard, “You can barely stand up straight most days.” 

Beca shrugged, pulling to a stop and hopping off. “S’easy,” was all she said by way of an answer before rolling the board to Chloe with the toe of her foot. “You’re turn.” 

“I think I like watching better,” Chloe said. She eyed the board uneasily, and Beca chuckled at the way she pulled her lip to the side with suspicion and fear.

“Come on,” Beca said, pushing Chloe by the shoulders closer to the board. When Chloe stepped on, Beca put her hands on her waist. She felt, beneath her fingers, the place where Chloe’s jeans ended and her shirt began. “Okay,” she said, twisting her fingers a little bit. “Position your hips like this.” 

Chloe moved in the direction that Beca’s fingers had pressed, jutting her hips out slightly. “No too much,” Beca said quickly, pressing back and readjusting. Chloe was already unstable, and she felt like it had less to do with the four wheels beneath her and more to do with the fact that the extra height put Beca right beneath her chest, fingers pressed tightly into her hips and moving them ever closer to her own torso. She watched the concentration on Beca’s face - the way her eyebrows her furrowed and her lip was bit - almost losing absolute focus and blinking before tumbling forward and wrapping her arms around Beca’s head ungracefully. 

“Sorry,” she winced, Beca’s head pressed tightly into her bosom. After a tap on the shoulder, she realized she was still holding tightly onto the other girl, and with a quick “oops” she let go. 

“Focus, Red,” Beca said, a grin on her face. The fact that her cheeks were burning wasn’t entirely lost on Chloe either. Her hands returned to the girl’s hips, adjusting slightly. “How does that feel for you?” 

“Um,” Chloe squeaked, “G-good. Good. I think.” 

“Awes,” Beca said, stepping back. “You wanna have that little bend. And then you just push off.” 

Chloe stood up, ruining all of Beca’s positioning and throwing wide eyes at the other girl. “I really don’t think this is going to work.” 

Beca sighed, rolling her eyes. When she walked back up to Chloe, her hands resumed their original work, but this time she walked forward, pushing Chloe with her. Occasionally, Chloe would throw her body accidentally forward, latching instinctively onto Beca’s shoulders, but she managed to regain a semblance of her balance and try again. After a few minutes of this, Beca’s hands went from pressing tightly on Chloe’s hips to hovering over them, until, finally, she stepped back. Chloe squealed at her absence, surprised by the quickness and the quietness with which the other girl had slipped out of her line of sight. Without thinking, she turned around, losing absolute balance. 

She saw the board fly up before she saw the sky, but by the time she could pick out the clouds above, she assumed she was in a crappy situation. The pain hardly had time to register before Beca was at her side. 

“Shit,” Beca muttered, eying the scratches and pebbles on Chloe’s palms and elbows. “Shit, shit, I’m sorry. You had it though.” 

Chloe grunted, sitting up fully and stretching her arms out. “No,” she said, her voice entirely too light for having fallen, “I really didn’t.” 

Beca nodded, her way of agreeing to being wrong. She held her hand out for Chloe to stand, and Chloe took it willingly, hissing a few times at the pain down her back. “So…..we use pads next time,” Beca said weakly, and Chloe laughed anyway because she heard the guilt in Beca’s voice. Beca quickly picked up the longboard and took Chloe’s hand. “It’s kinda funny actually.” 

“Excuse me if I fail to see the humor in this,” Chloe said, though her tone was light and joking. Beca nudged her shoulder a little, and the hand she had taken turned into a linked arm. 

“I’m just saying,” Beca said, shrugging, “You’re the dancer, and you’ve got no balance. I’m the clutz, and I got skills.” 

“You ‘got’ practice and an uncanny ability to  _not_ fall when you’re determined,” Chloe muttered, remembering the way Beca danced at most Bella rehearsals and knowing the truth. 

“I got skills,” Beca repeated, her voice a little quieter - frustrated, even - which made Chloe laugh so hard she was reminded once again of how bad her tailbone hurt. 


	142. The Slight Coffee Shop AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca always is on her phone when she orders coffee,Chloe is the annoyed bartista who spells her name wrong, and eventually Chloe snaps. Take it from there buddy.

She sees the girl through the glass windows, like she does every morning before the the sun properly wakes up. Some days her hair is still wet, but most of the time, it’s thrown up in an easy bun or a series of braids, and her outfits, for the most part, follow a familiar pattern throughout the weeks. Today, though, is different, because the girl has already gotten out of her car, walking into the shop in a hurry with her phone pressed to her ear. Today, she decided to step out with her coffee, and turn around on her heel the minute she put her phone away, walking back with her face more determined than Chloe was used to seeing in the woman this early in the morning. 

“Can I help you?” she said, faux-sweetness seeping through her voice. She’d learned to perfect the art of acting like she cared deeply for every customer request, and found that sometimes the fakeness of her smile could make way to some matching fake feelings of lightness that was enough to push her through these ungodly working hours with every kind of non-morning-person someone would be cruel enough to think up. 

The woman put the cup on the counter, coffee sloshing out the sides. She always accepted the coffee by taking the lid off, throwing it thoughtlessly into the trash can on the way out, and Chloe noticed how this bit her in the ass, as coffee was spilled over her hand. 

“Yeah,” the woman said, slightly out of breath. The determination with which she’d walked in had all but disappeared, and Chloe was surprised to find that without the phone glued to her ear, she looked almost…scared. Nervous, at the very least. “Um, this isn’t….um…”

“You come in here everyday, ma’am,” Chloe said, her voice like sugar, “I’m positive I got your order right.” 

“Oh no,” the woman said quickly, shaking her head, “No, I mean….wait…ma’am? Seriously?” 

“Sorry,” Chloe said, “Just…customer respect and all that.” 

“Right,” the woman said. She shook her head to get back on track, pointing a shaky finger to the cup. “So, um, I just….I was gonna say that this isn’t how you spell my name. Actually. It’s one C.” 

“Oh,” Chloe said. She stepped back, her brow furrowed. “O-kay? We’ll…make a note of it?” 

“Sorry,” the woman said, and Chloe was shocked to find that she was chuckling nervously. She took the cup back, holding up her hand. “That was dumb. I’m dumb. Just, like, pretend this didn’t happen when I walk in tomorrow, okay?” 

“It’s fine,” Chloe said quickly. She was shrugging, although the whole interaction felt more than odd at this point. “It’s just…like…weird, to be honest. Because you don’t even have the time to get off the phone to order and you want me to spell your name right? Like, I dunno, it’s just… _so_ funny.” 

“Whoa,” the woman said, surprised and stepping back. Chloe fought the urge to put a hand over her mouth, shocked that the words actually came out of her. She had to admit, though, that the admission felt good. Weeks and weeks of seeing this girl as she hissed into her phone had piled up to this moment, and while she was certain she’d get fired for the uncharacteristic snap, a piece of her more irrational self felt like it was worth it. “Feisty, are we?” 

“Excuse me?” Chloe said, and again she felt that white hot annoyance in the back of her eyes. The kind that surpassed any instinct for or inkling of sweetness that she harbored. “I work hard every single effin’ day, and you waltz in here with this ‘eff the world’ attitude, and frankly, it’s not the first face I want to see every day, okay? So forgive me if your name spelling isn’t exactly on the top of my list of important things, since  _smiling_ and  _saying hi_ every once in a while can’t even be put  _on_ your list.” 

“Dude,” the girl said, putting her hands up innocently, “Dude, chill for, like, one second please.” 

“Sorry,” Chloe said immediately. She, too, had stepped back, taking the defensive position behind the cash register and biting her lip as the other woman eyed her with an inscrutable expression. 

“I’m not a morning person,” the girl said carefully. There was a nervous bounce back to her body, and Chloe noticed it immediately. “And, um, well I’m not into the whole ‘pay for a mug of burnt bean water’ thing you got going here…”

“No one’s forcing you to walk in,” Chloe argued, but the girl put up her hand to hush her. 

“The point is, I was dragged her a few weeks ago, and you were working here and…” she paused, pressing her hands to her forward and turning slightly to the side to avoid Chloe’s stare. “I may or may not always ‘be on the phone’ because I’m too nervous to do, like, _anything_ around you. And I may or may not always be afraid that said phone is actually going to ring one of these days and you’ll notice I’m faking it. Only, none of my friends are crazy enough to actually wake up at this god-awful hour.” 

“I’m confused,” Chloe admitted. She put her hands on the edge of the counter, pressing the corner into her palm. The girl took a deep breath, stepping forward. 

“Chloe, right?” she said, pointing to the name tag. Chloe just nodded. “Chloe, you’re beautiful. And so wayyyy fucking out of my league. So…I spend absurd amounts of coffee just to pretend to not talk to you every morning. With the exception of, um, me asking that you fix the spelling of my name.” 

“Oh,” Chloe said, taking a moment to understand. When she finally did, she repeated, “Ohhhhh” again, nodding quickly. That was when she noticed the other girl’s gaze flicker quickly to her lips. “So it’s…Beca,” she started, glancing down at the cup.

“One c,” Beca said, though she was flushed and her voice came out uncertain. It was…cute. 

“Beca the Not Morning Person,” Chloe continued, a grin stretching on the side of her face. Beca just nodded, nervous and fiddling with her fingers. “You know, if you weren’t a morning person, you could’ve just asked to see me closer to the night-time. It probably would’ve been better than convincing me to hate you.” 

“You hate me?” Beca squeaked, but Chloe chuckled. 

“I hate the you that has important phonecalls at six in the morning,” Chloe answered, grabbing a sharpie and writing on the top of the cup. When she slid it over to Beca, it was with a wink and a smirk. “But maybe next time you can actually  _be_ on the phone with someone. Instead of, yunno, pretending.” 

Beca looked down to find that Chloe had turned the scrawl of “Becca” into a phone number, writing “For Beca” beneath it as if to show she  _did_ understand the spelling scenario. 

“Maybe,” she said breathlessly, her smile wider than her entire face. “But, um, maybe I could call you not at 6 am instead? Because this is….”

“Painful,” Chloe agreed, nodding. Beca latched onto the agreement immediately and matched Chloe’s grin. “Yes. Times ten.” 

“Great,” Beca said, picking up the cup. “It’s a date.” 

“Yep,” Chloe answered as Beca walked out the door, “It’s a date.” 


	143. The (other) HSAU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca is the bad ass rebel and Chloe is the straight A new girl. High School Bechloe fanfic?? — sent by anonymous

Chloe spent her time memorizing faces. She moved halfway through the school year, resulting in not having much of a chance to uncomfortably shift into school-sanctioned ice-breakers and uncomfortable lab-partner-turned-best-friends situations that she always watched in movies. So, she spent most of her time memorizing the faces of the people in her classes - the way they looked when they were zoned out and the way that it differed from when they were zoned in - attaching stories to the dirt on their shirts or the flick of their hair. It became a sort of past-time for her, and finding out the people’s names became a way of winning the game - or, at the very least, finishing it. 

There was one face, though, that she could never quite capture. Because in the portraits she drew in her mind, she always allowed for some movement, but this girl’s face shifted inside of the seconds - expressing everything from distress to boredom. She went from passionate and involved in every nerve of herself to completely disconnected and unattached. So Chloe never managed to get a hold on her face, even if she knew her name by heart. 

But she tended to blame that more on the fact that, four days out of five, Beca Mitchell skipped class. So there wasn’t exactly much time for facial memorization, admittedly. 

Yeah. 

That was why Chloe was intrigued. 

It had nothing to do with the fact that Beca walked into class everyday exactly two minutes late and no one seemed to question her. Or the way that when she did walk into class, she would scan the room, her eyes lingering on Chloe for just a second longer than everyone else. It was totally unrelated to the way she grinned out of the side of her mouth when someone got the answer wrong, and the fact that, from her seat in the back, Chloe could see her write down the answer to every question - answers which, Chloe knew, were right. 

And it absolutely, definitely, didn’t have to do with the fact that the class they shared was Calculus II, held at the beginning of the day just in time for the sun to rise in the windows, painting Beca’s face in shades of pink that seemed to soften all the harsh angles for just a fraction of a second before disappearing. 

Nothing to do with any of that. Not at all. Which was why, when Beca knocked on the edge of her desk as the teacher left the room to Xerox more hand-outs, she  _totally, definitely_ did  _not_ jump and squeak. 

She looked guiltily up at Beca, slightly confused but mostly scattered, and the girl looked back with a cocky grin. 

“What was the homework last night?” Beca said, whispering. Chloe found herself floundering, unsure of what to say even though she was looking directly down at the assignment in question. 

“Can I see this?” Beca asked, noticing the direction of Chloe’s stare and slipping a finger under the paper.

“Y-Yeah,” Chloe breathed, but only after Beca had already turned around, casually filling in the bubbles without bothering to be rushed by the whole thing. Somehow, she was finished before the teacher came back, sliding the paper back onto Chloe’s desk with a smile and a hushed, “Thanks a bunch.” 

If Chloe were being honest, it was the first time she’d said anything to anyone at the school other than the answers to teachers’ questions and a few “Where’s the bathroom”s. If Chloe were being honest, it hurt her throat a little, and if Chloe were being honest, her hands were still sweaty. 

So, after class, when Beca stayed behind, putting a hand on Chloe desk and scooting up to sit on it, she was both understandably confused and understandably overwhelmed. 

“C-Can I help you?” she said, her voice cracking slightly, but finding its rhythm eventually. 

“You’re, like, super fucking smart,” Beca said. Her finger was running up and down the side of the desk, and she had the smile of someone who knew a secret. Her words, though, said without malice but with some sense of…awe (which Chloe immediately thought must’ve been a misread) made the redhead blush. 

“I’m just…I like…like…Calc,” she finished, her hands waving around to explain herself. Beca nodded, eyebrows raised. 

“I can tell,” she said, “100% on the Assessment Test,  _plus_ the bonus points? Chloe fucking Beale, badass mathematician, eh?” 

“Um,” Chloe bit her lip. Because while she had a penchant for memorizing faces and assigning names, she had more than an inkling of assumption that Beca didn’t like to spend her time doing that too. So the fact that she knew her name - not only that, but she assigned it to a further complimentary sentiment - was enough to slap Chloe into waking up. She giggled, and it felt good, if not foreign on her lips. 

Because Chloe was a talker at her old school. She got in trouble time and time again for chatting too much in class - a thing that usually resulted in the “punishment” of a detention that she would spend talking non-stop to whatever teacher was supervising. And Chloe was giggler at her old school. A flirter. Smart, sure, and extremely involved, but capable and willing to participate in the social stratosphere of high school in addition to the academic side. And, with the moving boxes and transfer forms, she lost that piece of herself. Setting for memorizing faces instead of believing she could let her face be mesmerizing. The presence of Beca Mitchell, clad in combat boots and too much eyeliner and sitting on her desk after class, was enough to bring some of that back. Rusty, sure, but there and ready to play back. 

“Not as impressive as Beca Mitchell,” she bit back, leaning forward in her chair so she was closer to the girl, “Badass Extraordinaire  _and_ closeted math super star.” 

Beca tilted her head, surprised by the sudden change in the other girl’s demeanor. She bit her lip, considering. “You tell anyone about that, and I’ll punch your left boob.” 

“Kinky,” Chloe said, which promptly made Beca choke on her own response. It was funny, really, to see high school badass Beca Mitchell shocked by what Chloe had to say. Empowering, even. “But if you really don’t want people to know, then…a tutor would probably help the whole ‘maintaining image’ thing, huh?” 

“Chloe Beale,” Beca breathed out, shaking her head. Chloe noticed the slight blush that came up on the other girl’s cheeks and she leaned into it. “Who the fuck would’ve thought…” 

Chloe shrugged, packing up her textbooks. “Some people don’t have to wear pounds of eyeliner to be, like, confident, Beca,” she said, standing up, “I feel like you should know better than anyone else that smart girls are hot.” 

“Oi,” Beca shot back, finger outstretched, “I thought that shitty rumor died down, who told you that?” 

Chloe looked up, surprised by the finger that was pressed into her chest. She dropped her bag on the chair, holding her hands up.  “No one,” she said quickly. “N-no one. I just…” 

Beca saw the shock and backed down, scooting off the desk and taking a deep breath to collect herself. Chloe saw it - the way she cracked and had to glue it all back together before standing up with the same swagger as she’d walked in with. “Right,” she said in response, avoiding eye contact. “Awk. Last year was…Um….” 

“High school,” Chloe said, shuffling her feet awkwardly. 

“Yeah,” Beca breathed, grateful for the out, “Just…Pretend that didn’t happen.” 

They stood there for a second, until the teacher cleared his throat and looked pointedly at them. Chloe jumped to move at the same time as Beca, resulting in them running into each other and attempting to change paths at the same time. It was the most uncomfortable square dance situation Chloe had experienced (and she had to square dance in junior high gym with smelly Chad), so she chuckled politely through it until she could slip between the desks and sneak out. 

One step in the hallway, though, she heard Beca speak, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant. 

“Chloe?” she said, “About that tutor thing….” 


	144. The One Where Beca's a Tattoo Artist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca is a badass tattoo artist and Chloe goes into her shop before closing, seeing if she wants a tattoo. Bechloe fanfic?? Can you make a prompt?? Pleeeeaaaaaasssssseeeeeeeee — sent by anonymous

She saw a lot of girls who should be like Chloe where she worked. They always walked in, slightly afraid and holding their bags closer to their chests than necessary. They wear some variations of heels, and when they reached the counter, the request is normally along the lines of a state flower or a quote that Beca had become entirely too familiar with (though she’d always claim that “It’s so cool and unique, totally”). 

Yes, she saw a lot of girls who should be like Chloe where she worked. And when Chloe walked into the tattoo parlor, Beca prepared herself. Because she knew what to expect all the way down to what the redhead’s toenails were probably painted. It was tough, but she prefered these girls to the bikers that came and tended to either laugh at her presence or steal one too many glances down her shirt. Besides, sometimes they were drunk, and drunk girls in tattoo parlors say and do ridiculous things. 

“Hi,” Chloe said when she reached the counter. Beca stood up, turning around to face the redhead. 

She assumed that everyone noticed her eyes first. Because they were bluer than Beca had ever seen, and glowing with every possible emotion and the magic of opportunity that Beca hadn’t ever really known before. What Beca first noticed, though, was her shoulders. Clad in a blue and white dress that fanned out at her waist, Chloe’s shoulders were straight, tall, confident without an ounce of folding in on themselves the way that Beca had trained hers to do. And, what’s more, there was no bag pressed nervously against her chest. Just two hands, placed very determinedly on the counter in front of her. 

“Hey,” Beca said, realizing she spent too much time analyzing the woman in front of her to pretend like her response wasn’t delayed. “What’re you in for?” 

“A talk,” Chloe said easily, her hands sliding up the counter to hold her head up at the chin. 

“If you’re here for  _the_ talk, sorry, but my parents didn’t even give me that, so I don’t hand it out readily to strangers,” Beca quipped, and she found that the way the girl giggled was maybe the most beautiful sound in the world which was….

…Really the corniest thing she’d ever thought before. 

“Cute,” Chloe answered, and Beca was embarrassed to find herself blushing. “But no, I was thinking more of a talk about tattoos.” 

“Hmm, that  _is_ my specialty,” Beca nodded, slipping out from behind the counter to pull a chair up for the woman to sit down. “What’re you thinking?” 

“Bulletproof,” Chloe said. She was certain, crossing her legs and looking at Beca without an ounce of apology. 

It was, quite frankly, astonishing, the way that Chloe held herself. It made Beca feel like she wasn’t the one who should be holding the tattoo gun at all. “Bulletproof,” she repeated, and Chloe nodded, excitedly. 

“It’s David Guetta,” she said, which was possibly more than Beca could bear, because she had a specialized playlist currently running through the studio, and she was certain that were they to stay there for at least an hour, the song would run through the speakers a total of five times. “Do you know him?”

“Y-yes,” Beca said, stunned. “Um. Yeah.” 

“Good,” Chloe beamed, “Because he’s my favorite. Anyway. Bulletproof. It’s corny. I know. Don’t, like, totally judge me. But, hey, if I’m going to get another tattoo, I kinda want to be reminded of it’s permanence. Of my permanence. Of the fact that I can be scared, but, like, that’s not…that’s fine. Cuz nothing’s gonna hurt. Too bad.” 

“Nothing’s gonna kill you,” Beca said with a quick nod, and Chloe excitedly pointed at her in agreement. “Yeah, I get it.” 

“Maybe if I can remember that things won’t hurt as much as I think, then I won’t be so afraid to go for it,” she said, waiting for Beca to respond. The other girl nodded, biting her lip. There was a beautiful hesitance to the way Chloe shared - because it was hidden beneath the confidence and certainty. 

“Kinda like getting a tattoo,” Beca finished, smiling. Chloe grinned, too, and Beca thought that music got louder in that moment. 

“ _Exactly_ ,” Chloe said. She sighed, content, before holding her hand out. “I’m Chloe Beale.” 

Beca nodded, taking the hand. “I’m Beca Mitchell.”

“And you’re gonna give me a tattoo,” Chloe finished with a shake of her hand, to which Beca just nodded. 

“Fuck yeah.” 


	145. The Accidental Pregnancy AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an unfortunate relationship, Beca finds herself pregnant on Chloes doorstep, trying to figure out if all the maybes can become a yes? (Like a pre-acachild fic) — sent by anonymous

She didn’t know where to go. It was a particular trait of her’s, this sense of misdirection - this feeling of being lost. And now more than ever she felt like her internal map was off somehow, leading her around and around in circles until she finally recognized the porch that she’d stepped on. 

She didn’t know where to go. She never did. So she ended up right where she always did: standing on the doorstep of Chloe Beale’s house. 

“Beca,” Chloe breathed when she saw Beca, her hand lining the edge of the door carefully. Beca shuffled, surprised too to see Chloe’s face. Because as she wandering - driving through side streets and over highways for hours to clear her mind - she operated in a foggy haze that _felt_ directless. Like sleepwalking. And the sight of Chloe’s face, clean and clear and freshly woken up, was enough to wake her up, if only for one startling moment. 

“Chlo, hey,” she answered awkwardly, scratching at her ear. “Um…” 

“Come in!” Chloe answered, ushering Beca through the door without any question. It was a nice apartment - decorated with patterns and DIY projects that Beca could practically  _see_ her crafting with Aubrey. Big enough, by LA standards at least, though she could see the consequences of a private school teacher’s salary in the kitchen/living room combo, and the general bareness of the room. 

Still, it felt comfortable. Like coming home - none of the lights shining too harshly, and the scent of Chloe weighing perfectly on her shoulders so that she felt like she wasn’t being weighted down and wasted floating either. 

“I’m kinda surprised,” Chloe said softly. She padded into the kitchen, and Beca noticed that she was wearing a robe, her pajama pants peeking out from under.

“Shit,” Beca said quickly, “What time is it?” 

Chloe breathed a laugh, pulling her hair back and looking at the clock in disbelief. “I should’ve assumed you wouldn’t know it was two am…” 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” Beca said. She began to turn around, so quickly on her heels that Chloe couldn’t have stopped her if she tried. Still, she was halfway through her first step before Chloe shouted out. 

“Whoa,” she said, “Hey, it’s fine. I mean, I have class, but…like…it’s cool.” 

“No, I shouldn’t have come,” Beca said. Her head was down, words muffled by hair. So she couldn’t see it when Chloe walked up to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. The touch made her jump, but she eased into it slowly - like she always did with Chloe - and before long she was wrapped in a hug. 

“I don’t know what happened, Chlo,” she said, and Chloe recognized the way it was almost a sob. She held Beca tighter, moving to kiss her temple. 

“It’s okay, Becs. It’s okay. You’re okay.” 

“I’m not,” she said, and this time her voice cracked. “ _We’re_ not.” 

Chloe pulled away, her forehead pressed to Beca’s. Together, they breathed a few times, and Chloe saw the way Beca’s eyes darted through the room. She was survivor - always had been - and when the fight or flight instinct was enacted, she tended to search for every possible exit sign. But Chloe held onto her shoulders tightly, her jaw set in determination while her eyes were soft. 

“What?” 

Beca sighed. She pulled away, looking down. Chloe saw it then - a change. Miniscule, infinitesimal, but present enough for Beca’s personal Chloe to recognize. There was softness to her. A scared sort of accidental sophistication that hovered around her like blurred edges. She was beautiful, even in this kind of panic, because there was an odd stability and calm to it all. A certainty. 

Then, she raised her hand to her stomach, pressing there even though no bump had formed. 

“I fucked up, Chlo,” she said quietly. She was broken, and Chloe could see the way her voice reached for something. Someone. “I really fucked up, and I didn’t even know it. But I don’t know what to do.” 

Chloe walked forward, asking with her eyes for permission before placing her hands on Beca’s. “You’re….?” 

Beca nodded. Chloe thought she’d never seen Beca be scared. While she was skittish, jumpy, and occasionally panicked, she was never genuinely scared. There was always a feeling that she was capable of growing bigger than whatever existed before her. Until now. So Chloe stole a breath, using it to stand up straighter. 

“Congratulations,” she said when she pulled Beca into another hug, much more determined and impassioned than before. Beca pressed into it, putting her head in the space between Chloe’s collarbone and her shoulder. 

“No one…” Beca sobbed quietly, “No one has said that to me yet…” 

“Well they should,” Chloe said quickly, “Another you? The world needs it.” 

Beca squeezed her tighter instead of responding, holding Chloe hostage for more than a few moments before saying, “You make it feel okay.” 

“Beca,” Chloe said, breaking the hug to look Beca in the eye. She reached up, rubbing away the tear running down Beca’s cheek with her thumb. “It is okay.” 

Beca nodded, choosing to glance up to avoid the comfortable stare of Chloe Beale. “You, um…” she breathed out, starting to shake her leg, “I…I love you, Chlo.” 

Chloe ran her thumb over Beca’s jutting collarbone. “I love you too, Beca,” she said softly, and Beca only nodded. 

Because she got lost almost constantly. But for some reason her internal compass always led her here, and for some reason it always felt like home. 


	146. The One With Jesse's Stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Chloe helps Beca clear out all of Jesse's stuff in her room after they breakup. — sent by kyounlimited

There wasn’t much left over, if she was being honest. After three years and constant contact, Chloe expected more to be packed away in Beca’s room - like fossils that were waiting to be discovered. So when Beca called her, frustration rich in her voice, she drove over quickly from the gym, hoping she’d find some time in the coming day to do the things she set out to do. But when she got there and realized what they had to do, it seemed easy enough. She leaned over to the movie rack, plucking out a DVD. 

“It’s all movies,” Beca said from the bed, scratching her forehead. “And, like, clothes, I guess.” 

Chloe nodded, checking the inside case. “Right, well, let’s make two boxes then.” She moved quickly, not because she felt the need to, but because Beca was frozen on her bed, and she felt some sense of urgency to the whole thing. Some strangeness in Beca’s voice and the way that she watched Chloe throughout the process. There were fifteen DVDs in all, with two discs missing, and a total of four ironic band t-shirts that Beca had collected. Each time she held one up, Beca just nodded, plugging something in on her computer and continuing with her mix like nothing happened. By the end of the hour, Chloe had cleared away the very obviously “Jesse” things, moving to sit on the edge of Beca’s bed and take a breath. The action caused Beca to pull her headphones off, looking at Chloe. 

“Done,” Chloe chirped, folding her legs beneath her. Beca nodded, sighing when she looked at the boxes. 

“Thanks,” she said. She bit her lip.

“Can I ask you something?” Chloe asked after a beat, and Beca nodded, poking a hole through the sleeve of her shirt with a pencil. “Why did you need my help?” 

Beca nodded then, like she was expecting the question. Closing her computer, she threw herself down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. “Two boxes?” she said, and Chloe crawled up to rest next to her, nodding. “Two boxes.” 

“One and a half, really,” Chloe conceded, and Beca sighed again. Chloe poked her lightly in the side. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, no, fine,” Beca said quickly. “I couldn’t…I just…like…it all seemed scattered and stuff so I started to just get annoyed, like I guess even when he sent the text for the movies I was bothered and so I needed someone else to handle it and I don’t know wh–”

“It’s fine,” Chloe said. She slipped her hand into Beca’s. “I don’t mind.” 

Beca turned, looking at the boxes. She bit the sleeve she was playing with earlier, considering something. Chloe scooted closer, but Beca sat up to move away. It was enough to make Chloe put a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to turn around. 

“What’s up, buttercup?” she said, still lying down. Beca rolled her eyes. 

“It hardly seems like enough, yunno? Two boxes…” she said again, “I guess I thought there was more.” 

“He wasn’t around very often,” Chloe added, and Beca nodded mindlessly. 

“It’s just crazy. Three years and only two boxes. What, a few movies and clothes? It feels…like…blasphemous. Unfair or unjust or something.” 

“Advanced philosophy is doing wonders for your break-up mentality, Becs,” Chloe joked, but Beca didn’t laugh. She just continued staring. 

“I can’t shake the feeling that we were never really together in the first place,” she said, her eyes locked. She had an emptiness to her voice, the kind that came with letting your mind wander elsewhere. Chloe sat up, rubbing the knots in Beca’s shoulders lightly. “Like, obviously we were together but…This seems like…proof. That we were together, but not _together_ together.” 

“Why weren’t you together together, then, do you think?” Chloe asked, and Beca leaned into her touched so that she was pressed up against Chloe. 

“I dunno,” she hummed, closing her eyes. “I dunno.” 

“That’s not an answer,” Chloe said, pressing harder into Beca’s back. Beca sighed, swallowing before answering. 

“I think I was always somewhere else. So, that would…technically…prevent any togetherness,” she finally said, and Chloe stopped. Her hands moved around to tangle with Beca’s, and she squeezed them lightly. 

“Where were you, then, Beca,” she whispered. Beca spun around then, looking at Chloe and the freckles that dotted her nose. Slowly, she put a hand on the redhead’s collarbone, tracing it lightly and watching Chloe’s reactions to make sure it was okay. Chloe bit her lip, prompting Beca with her eyes. 

“With you, I think,” Beca said, her eyes trained on the hand that traced Chloe’s collarbone. Chloe gasped lightly, and Beca’s eyes shot up to hers, expecting rejection but finding something entirely different. “I’m sorry I made you pick up his stuff. That was shitty.” 

Chloe shrugged. She wasn’t sure when they had gotten this close. “What’re friends for?” she started to say, but Beca cut her off, pressing her lips against Chloe’s and pushing her back. By the time they broke apart, Beca bit her lip. 

“Not really that, huh?” she said, scared, but Chloe chuckled. 

“I mean, if that counts as a tip for moving your ex-boyfriend out, I’ll take it,” she said, moving up to kiss Beca again. It was short this time, though, and she had to force herself to pull back. “But…”

“But you want this to be a thing,” Beca finished for her, and Chloe nodded. “A more-than-two-box-thing.” 

“Yeah,” Chloe breathed, twirling Beca’s hair around her finger. Beca inhaled slowly, looking away and then meeting Chloe’s eyes after a few seconds of thought. 

“Me too,” she said simply, and Chloe chuckled again, pulling Beca closer for another kiss, the boxes disappearing for both of them when they decided to close their eyes. 


	147. The One with the Rude Customer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘I’m on the verge of tears because of a rude customer and you step in and stand up for me’ AU Chloe is working (where? Idk) and beca helps her out — sent by annakendicks

“Sir,” Chloe said again, trying her best to keep a steady tone. She held her hand up warily, as if she could hold back his harsh words with just her palm. Maybe she held it out just to keep herself balanced, Beca thought. Judging by the way her lip was quivering, Beca guessed it was some combination of both. “We can only offer free refills for the family size.” 

The man, who was twice Chloe’s size with shoulders that seemed to stretch the entire length of the register she was working at, gristled. Beca watched him stand straighter, harnessing his size to put a sort of shadow on Chloe. His hands were sausages, with only one encased in a ring that remarkably wasn’t cutting off circulation, and he put one forcefully on the counter, making Chloe jump and squeak. “I fucking paid for a refill, and I’m going to get a fucking refill, Ginge. Don’t blame me if you can’t do the math in that pretty little head of yours.”

“Okay,” Chloe breathed out between her teeth. Beca watched her, noticing how her eyes were welling up with tears and her words were sounding more and more like squeals. She pressed her lips together to try to swallow it down, but there was a vein popping out of her forehead. “Sir,” she said again, as if the word was some kind of base point from which she could lower the tension of the conversation. “I have your account summary here, and you paid for a large. Which means you don’t have free refills.” 

“What the fuck is this,” the man shouted suddenly, shoving the popcorn bag from his side of the counter so that it flew up and at Chloe before she had a chance to step back. Somehow, Beca had stepped forward without realizing it, slipping quietly between the man and the counter though no one in the actual argument had noticed it. “You’re so fucking stupid you don’t even know how to ring it up right? You’ve got to be fucking joking. What, pretty girl like you just had to fuck the boss to get a job here or what? Do you even know how to read?” 

“Whoa, dude,” Beca said, louder than she’d intended. What she meant to keep under her breath was somehow said at normal level and accompanied by a hand that pressed against the man’s large chest. It garnered the attention of both the redhead and the customer, so that they both looked at her with confusion. “Like…chill out,” she said, backing down slightly but taking a deep breath and trying again. “For real. The machine doesn’t lie, so why don’t you stop insulting this woman who’s just trying to do her job, and realize that you clearly don’t need another half a pound of popcorn slathered in butter, okay bro?” 

“And who the fuck are you?” the guy reeled, taking a step forward so that Bec a could experience for the first time the terrifying height of the man. 

She could’ve said,  _Beca Effin Mitchell._

She could’ve said,  _Just your friendly neighborhood spiderman._

She could’ve said,  _Um, a decent human being._

But her very capable and eloquent mind decided to go with, “N-n-no one. Literally no one. Just…like…give her a break, dude. You’re missing the movie anyway.” 

The man didn’t seem to notice how much she was backing down, though, because he shot daggers at Chloe before turning around quickly and racing to his theater with his hands in fists. Beca hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she found herself exhaling sharply the minute he was out of her line of sight. Slightly dizzy from the whole lack of oxygen thing, it took her a second to look up at Chloe, and when she did, she didn’t see the same quivering lip and watery eyes as before. The woman was smiling, her eyes wide and her lips upturned in something akin to awe. 

“Thanks for saving me,” she said softly, and if Beca didn’t know any better, the stranger whose nametag read “Chloe” was flirting with her. She took a shaky breath, straightening out her tanktop before finally leaning over the counter. 

“S’cool,” she said casually, though her heart was still beating impossibly fast. “I fight for justice.” 

“Well, we’ll eat to that,” Chloe giggled, biting her lip before plucking a popcorn bag from the counter and throwing out a wink. She started scooping the popcorn in without explanation, fully aware of the way Beca watched her in a mixture of confusion and thought. 

“Seriously?” Beca asked, eying the popcorn bag filled to the brim in front of her. Chloe picked a piece from the top, popping it into her mouth. “This feels wrong,” she added before taking her own handful. Chloe giggled, leaning forward on the counter. 

“Cute girls get free popcorn,” she answered. Then, she pointed to a sign slightly out of the customers’ line of sight. Sure enough, in scrappy hand-writing, it was written. “If my boss gets that loophole, so do I. Especially when they’re cute  _heroic_ girls.” 

Beca’s eyebrows nearly reached her hairline, and she had to stop stuffing popcorn in her mouth for fear of choking on shock. The woman across the counter was being more than blunt, and while she appreciated the lack of game being played, there was an embarrassing flush climbing up her cheeks that Chloe clearly noticed. 

“H-heroic is a stretch,” Beca managed, looking down. Chloe laughed again, throwing a piece of popcorn at Beca and forcing her to look up again. 

“But cute isn’t?” Chloe asked, and Beca grinned. 

“Some say it’s debatable but…” she squinched her nose, “We all know the truth.” 

Chloe nodded knowingly, which made Beca blush more, and took another handful before she started staring at Beca. Without saying anything, she just grinned, her face completely different from how it had been moments ago. Stuck in the silence of the stare, Beca tilted her head, furrowing her eyebrows. “What? Do I have something in my teeth?” 

Chloe rolled her eyes at that, but the smile never left her face. “No, goof,” she said, “I’m just waiting for you to ask me on a date.” 

“O-Oh,” Beca choked out. “Oh.” After a few uncomfortable moments of silence wherein Beca couldn’t manage one coherent thought, she swallowed nervously and looked back up. “Right. Um. Would asking you to go to a movie be too kitschy?” 


	148. The One with the Brain Surgery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca undergo a brain surgery affecting her hearing and hearing is so precious to her for DJing and when she got frustrated she trashed her room and when she was about to break her DJ things Chloe entered her room because Kimmy Jin called her — sent by anonymous

She couldn’t touch the music. 

And she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was running away from her, the distance spreading between her and the sound until all there was left was the faint footprints of notes that used to be fresh and crisp and clear. 

So she raced after the songs, latching onto the clothes that were hanging off of her bed at first and throwing them across the room. Then, her desk, covered in textbooks and notepads, was scattered across the floor. The sounds of her grunts covered up any hint of the thundering crashes that the materials made, so she kept going, throwing out shoes and ripping the sheets from her bed. 

She was saturated everything with sharp reds - the red of her muscles pushing against themselves to throw, the red of her sight as everything zeroed in on what could and could not be picked up by her hands, the red of the smell of popcorn someone had burned across the hall, and the red of Kimmy Jin’s stare laser-beamed on her back. The color seeped into every sense, and she hated the way that she still could only hear the faintest of pinks hinting against her ears. 

So she jumped further into it, hoping that if she did she might be able to force herself to listen, but the second she placed her hands on the equipment that caused her so much turmoil, light green nails brushed over her own, planting her hands to the equipment with a polite kind of force. 

Spinning around, she let go of the tech and found herself latching onto Chloe’s shirt, pulling her close enough to squeeze - an action which left Chloe squeaking in shock before she softened to the touch and started brushing down Beca’s hair. 

Beca assumed her roommate had muttered something based on Chloe’s slight nod in her direction, but it was too soft for her to hear, so she ignored the door opening and closing and focused on the easy green of Chloe’s touch. Light and fresh and blending into blues to melt the red that was overtaking her. 

“What happened?” Chloe said next to her ear, which made Beca only squeeze her tighter, not wanting to have to speak. Chloe led them to the bed, where they both sat, and then pulled away. “Not that I don’t love a good Beca hug,” she said with a worried smile, “They’re quite the rarity, but, I’m not so sure I like the context.” 

“The music’s not there, Chlo,” Beca said, sniffling. “I tried….I tried. And…It’s just…it’s not there.” 

“Beca,” Chloe breathed. She took Beca’s hand in hers, running over the hardened knuckles and tracing an intricate pattern. “You’ve got it, Becs.” 

She was so certain. So sure. It tugged Beca’s chest down to her bellybutton before throwing it back up again. 

“No,” she said, “No I don’t. They fucked with everything and now it’s not there.” 

“Hey,” Chloe tutted. She reached out to run her hand over Beca’s cheek, and Beca leaned into it as if she was being petted. “Hey. It’s there. It’s just different. So use that.” 

“Use that,” Beca repeated, numbly not understanding. 

“You’re the only person who hears the way you hear,” Chloe explained simply, “So use that. Show us how it sounds, or, how you  _wish_ it could sound. Within every teddy bear is an automated rifle.”

“What the fuck, Chlo,” Beca said. She was chuckling, but her brows were still furrowed in confusion. Chloe moved her hand, pressing in the crease between Beca’s eyebrows to smooth it out. 

“The things that appear to be weak or soft are were you find your secret weapons,” she explained. Then, she pointed at her throat. 

“Like the nodes,” Beca nodded, and Chloe smiled. 

“Now you’re getting it,” Chloe confirmed. She pulled Beca in again, her cheek on the other girl’s temple. “You’ve still got it. It’s still there. Different, but different’s never been bad.” 

“S’that what your mom told you when you were little, Ginge?” Beca joked weakly, which earned her a prompt slap on the arm. 

“Rude,” Chloe hummed, but Beca was laughing, and she could see the way it made Chloe breathe easier. “Just because your mom told you that doesn’t mean everyone’s did, Short Stack.” 

“Low blow, Beale,” Beca muttered, “I may be half-deaf, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get my feelings hurt.” 

With a light chuckle, Chloe squeezed Beca’s shoulder to hold her closer, kissing her temple lightly. “You’re gonna be a-okay, DJ extraordinaire,” she said, and there it was again. That kind of absolute certainty that made Beca second guess every insecurity she’d ever had. She took a shaky breath, hoping to take in some semblance of the confidence that Chloe had. “But you owe me, like, five thousand dollars.” 

“What?!” Beca shrieked, pulling away. Chloe had her eyebrows raised. 

“That equipment I saved you from ruining? Yeah, it ain’t cheap. So I expect to be paid for my services.” 

“You suck,” Beca muttered. “But thank you.” 


	149. The One Where Beca Does Something Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you do a really sad angsty bechloe, where Chloe get frustrated with Beca for some serious reason, and Beca tries and fails multiple times to fix it, but just can't get it right, until she finally breaks, and goes missing somewhere, feeling as though she failed Chloe, and Chloe finds her, and they make up somehow? — sent by anonymous

The hardest part was that she knew exactly what she was doing wrong. 

The moment would build itself up, climbing up to this inevitable precipice when Chloe would look at her with wide, expecting eyes lined in hope, and then she would bend down and break it apart, crushing the moment into pieces while Chloe tried to hide her disappointment with a sad smile and a quick glance away. 

The hardest part was that she knew exactly what she was doing wrong, and there was something in her that was keeping her from fixing it. 

They sat across from each other on the floor of the living room, cross-legged so that their knees were touching, a strange understanding passing over them like a blanket that this was the time when Chloe would say, “You look beautiful today” and Beca would say, “Not as beautiful as you” and they would lean in, meeting in the middle for a kiss. But when Chloe said the words, Beca flinched back like someone hit her in the head, stuttering out a basic, “God, no, I haven’t showered in, like, a week” before running up the steps to slam her head against her headboard another thousand times. 

Or they lay on the floor of the rehearsal space, using their workout bags as pillows as they stared at the ceiling and drew out invisible choreography plans. They held hands, and there was a certain instant of silent communication where the script was laid in place. Chloe would say, “I love it when you sing,” and Beca would say, “I can’t look away when you dance”, and they would turn so that they were facing eachother, noses touching. But when Chloe said the words, Beca shot up, coughing like she was choking on the line that belonged to her before racing to her car where she blasted the world’s angstiest Taylor song and drove around the neighborhood a few extra times. 

It was something she never felt the need to overcome. Because there was no one who she wanted to say the words to until Chloe came along, and so while she knew it was an issue somewhere in the back of her mind, she never thought that addressing it would be a problem. For a while, she convinced herself that she couldn’t say it because she couldn’t feel it. The “I love you” needed to follow with an actual feeling for a base, and she sort of assumed that that was a nonentity in her life. 

But she knew by the way that her chest hurt when Chloe’s face fell every time a moment passed that she was feeling it now. She knew because she saw that disappointment when she tried to go to bed - filling her with guilt and self-hatred until she wanted to rip her hair out more than she thought Chloe probably did. And while there should’ve been some expectation on Chloe’s behalf to say it first, she understood that it needed to come from her. The motion, the catalyst, the fire needed to be started by her or else it would like everything else in their relationship - steered by the redhead and just carrying Beca along. 

It was important that this be a thing she got over. 

Only, she couldn’t. Practicing the words in the mirror or on the highway only turned them into numb sayings that held less than half of the weight as when she tried to come close to _thinking_ it around Chloe. So when the next moment came - a match-making dinner very poorly disguised by the other Bellas as a “Bonding Time” wherein they all “accidentally” had to bail - and Beca stuffed as many fries into her mouth as possible before racing away from the foodtruck to throw a snowball in Chloe’s face, she allowed them to pass the time in the car back home in silence. Then, in the dark of the night, she slipped out of the house with her laptop and a change of clothes, texting Jesse on the way out to see if that empty space in his bed was still free for a platonic safe space. 

“I don’t think I actually have a heart,” she said to him, crumbling on the floor when he opened the door with a bowl of popcorn already ready. “I’m a heartless bitch who doesn’t even deserve anyone at all.” 

“Beca, what the fuck?” he said, closing the door behind him and trying to nudge Beca closer to the bed or the desk chair at least. 

“I never said it to you,” she said numbly. 

“You wanna stop acting like an overdramatic teenager and tell me what’s going on?” he muttered. He managed to get her to the chair, bending down by the knees so that he was looking up at her. 

“I never told you that I loved you,” she said, her voice cracking. 

“You didn’t,” he said simply. He shrugged. There was a touch of bitterness in his voice, but he worked on quelling it. She turned from him, elbows on the desk, to bury her face in her hands. 

“No,” she said, “I did. I  _did._ And I never fucking told you. Because everytime I try to open my goddamn mouth I become a fucking mute.” 

“Beca,” Jesse stood again, rubbing his hand over Beca’s back. “As much as I would love you coming to my door to proclaim your love, something tells me that this isn’t about us, so…” 

“Jesse, I can’t do it,” she said quietly, looking up at him. “I can’t…I don’t…I don’t  _trust_ myself with her.” 

“Chloe,” he said blankly, and Beca nodded. Taking a deep breath, he put his hands on his hips and looked away. When he finally glanced back at her again, he was stationed on the edge of his bed. “What do you mean?” 

She threw her hands up. “I’m fucking broken, Jesse. If I can’t even tell her how I feel then how the hell am I supposed to give her even half of what she deserves?” 

“Beca, come on. You’re all of what she deserves.” 

“No,” Beca fought back, her voice rising. “No, you don’t know that. She’s…she’s…so much more than me, Jess. And I’m some twelve year old incapable of saying the L word. I’m fucked up. You know that better than anyone else. And I don’t think I can fucking subject her to that kind of shit.” 

Jesse shook his head, standing again. “You’re being ridiculous.” 

“I know!” Beca shot back, “That’s the problem! I’m ridiculous! I’m irrational and cold and anxious and scared and sad and broken and fucking not worth that woman’s love.” 

“Well too bad!” Jesse yelled. He had grabbed his shoulders, shaking them. “Too bad, Beca, because you don’t get to keep her from loving you the way you keep yourself from loving her. You don’t get to do that. So…figure it out.” 

She took a deep breath, staring at him warily until his grip on her arms loosened. “Sorry,” he said weakly, stepping back. “Sorry. It just. Needed to be said.” 

“Whatever,” Beca muttered, grabbing her bag. “She’s asleep by now. So…I don’t need your bed. Thanks though.” 

“Sure,” he answered. “Sure.” 

She was halfway back to the house before she saw a figure shooting through the bushes, which would’ve scared the hell out of her if she wasn’t donning an oversized hoodie that blocked most of her vision and if her tears were interfering with majority of her instincts. It wasn’t until hands wrapped around her waist that she screamed. A hand clamped around her mouth then, which made her bite hard, and when she heard the incredulous “Ow, Becs!” she knew the mistake she made. 

“What the fuck, Chlo, you don’t just assault people in the middle of the night,” she hissed, stepping back to catch her breath. Chloe held her hand, wincing in surprise at the pain. 

“Well you do what you have to do when your best friend decides to run away,” she said with an equal tone of frustration and annoyance. Beca looked up - the sky was covered in night clouds, hiding the stars. 

“Sorry,” she allowed. “Sorry.” 

“Beca,” Chloe said, noticing the way Beca’s eyes were bloodshot and there were tears streaming down her face. “What’s up, buttercup?” 

Beca turned away from the hand that was reaching out to wipe the tears away, waving her off. “No,” she said, crossing her arms and trying to head in the opposite direction. Chloe was quick, though, and yanked her back without any grace. “Chlo, come on. Lemme go.” 

“No,” Chloe said sternly. She stepped in Beca’s path, raising an eyebrow. “No, you’re going to tell me why you’re crying.” 

“It’s nothing,” Beca said between teeth, her hands fisting into balls. 

“Beca Mitchell,” Chloe warned, stepping forward, but the threat had the opposite effect. Beca stepped forward too, crumbling into Chloe’s arms with no warning and squeezing her tightly. 

“I’m so sorry, Chlo,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’m sorry I’m not good enough.” 

“What?” Chloe asked, surprised. Beca pushed back just enough to meet Chloe’s eyes. 

“I’m an idiot,” she said, “And I can’t tell you that I love you, because I’m emotionally stunted. A loser. Someone you  _so_ don’t want to be in a relationship with. And I’m sorry because….because you mean, god, just the entire world to me. And I’m…I’m not worth it for you.” 

“Beca,” Chloe said with a critical tone. “Beca, don’t.” 

“No,” she said, pushing away with more force. “No, it’s true! It’s true, Chloe.” 

“Beca,” Chloe said again. This time, it was soft. Smiling. 

“Why are you happy about this?” Beca scoffed, and Chloe chuckled. 

“Because,” she said slowly, her lips pursing to hide her grin. “You said it.” 

“I said it,” Beca repeated in shock, and Chloe bit her lip, nodding. “I said it, didn’t I?” 

“You did,” Chloe answered, and Beca almost let out a squeal. “Say it again?” 

Beca took a deep breath. “I love you,” she said in a rush of one word. This time, Chloe squealed, jumping up and down and clapping her hands. 

“Not the reaction I was hoping for,” Beca joked lightly, though she was still scared and her hands were shaking with adrenaline. Chloe calmed down, looking at Beca with faux-seriousness. 

“Well  _obviously_ I love you too,” she said, “I was just waiting for ya.” 

Beca rolled her eyes. “Yeah, thanks for that one,” she muttered, and Chloe threw her into a headlock, which Beca quickly protested. Eventually, they stood forehead-to-forehead, with Chloe’s arms resting on Beca’s shoulders. 

“New test?” Chloe said, her lips centimeters away from Beca’s. 

“This one’s a little easier,” Beca said, pressing her lips against Chloe’s. 

“Thank god for that,” Chloe finally responded when her lips broke off from the other girl’s. 


	150. The One with the Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FIC PROMPT: BECHLOE GIVE EACH OTHER REALLY COOL ROCKS that they think the other will enjoy. (i'm kidding) (am I?) — sent by gayforannak

“Okay, don’t, like, laugh or anything,” Beca muttered when she turned around to search around in her desk. Chloe clapped excitedly, scooting back on the bed until her back was up against the headboard. 

“Oh my god,” she squealed, “You  _totally_ got me something, Beca Mitchell.” 

“Not quite,” Beca said under her breath, sighing. Chloe saw her worry her lip, considering whatever was in the drawer before taking a deep breath and closing it completely. 

“If I didn’t know you better I would think you were about to pull out a sex toy with all the weirdness that’s happening over in the corner of the room,” Chloe said. Beca winced quickly, pulling a face that made Chloe laugh. “But, thankfully, I know you. So, like, totes no.” 

“You’re disgusting,” Beca muttered, shaking her head. She started to walk away from the desk, nothing in her hands. 

“Whoa whoa whoa, missy,” Chloe said, sitting up on her knees, “You are present-less, and you’ve lured me into this room on the pretext of presents so….” 

Beca rolled her eyes. “The pleasure of my company isn’t enough for you?” 

“Psssh,” Chloe scoffed, “I’d get that even if I didn’t want it. Cuz you  _loooooove_ me. So now that your affection isn’t a hot commodity, I want  _presenttsssss.”_

“Oh my god,” Beca groaned, throwing herself on the bed, “My best friend is a three year old.” 

Chloe giggled, turning around and lowering her head on Beca’s lap. When she looked up at the other girl, she was biting her lip with excitement, her eyes round in the way that Beca could never quite get used to. She took Beca’s arm and started to play with it, tracing the veins before throwing it up and down between her hands. “I’m rubber and you’re glue, whatever you say bounces off of me and sticks to you,” she sang, tapping Beca lightly a few times on the cheek. Beca pulled away, but grabbed Chloe’s hand in the process, turning her forceful grip into a hand to hold. 

“Fine,” Chloe said, “If you won’t give me your present, I’ll give you mine.” 

Beca raised an eyebrow, eyeing Chloe suspiciously. “I don’t believe I remember anything about you and gifts, madame.” 

“That’s because I didn’t say anything, goof,” Chloe tutted. Without moving her head, she shifted her hips up, reaching behind to pull something out of her back pocket. In the process, she stuck her tongue out to focus, squinting slightly, and Beca loved the weird theatrics of it all so much that she hardly noticed when Chloe triumphantly held something in her hand for Beca to see. After a few seconds of waving, Beca blinked and her eyesight focused in on the medium-sized rock in Chloe’s hand, shaded dark brown and red - like an unpolished granite that jutted out unexpectedly from several sides. “For you, my dear,” Chloe said, brandishing it like a prize. Beca plucked it out of Chloe’s hands without thought, pulling it close to her face to inspect. 

“Dude,” she said, “This is dope.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Chloe chuckled, but she was biting her lip as she watched Beca inspect. 

“You’re the one who’s gifting me a rock right now.” 

“Shut up,” Chloe clucked, “It reminded me of you.” 

Beca closed her hand around the rock quickly, pulling it down to her waist. With one breath and a glance up at the ceiling, she closed her eyes and said, jumbling the words together, “Okay, so I might’ve had the same idea.” 

“What?” Chloe sat straight up, turning in an impossibly quick movement to face Beca. “You. Got. Me. A. Rock. Too.” 

Beca slapped her lightly on the knee, standing up off the bed. “If anyone asks, you did it first,” she said as she walked towards the desk that she was ruffling through earlier. When she headed back to the bed, she had her hand clasped around something. Chloe held her hands up near her chin, excited as a school girl. “Gimme, gimme, gimme.” 

“Hey,” Beca chided, holding the rock out of Chloe’s reach, “Patience, grasshopper.” 

“Puh,” Chloe rolled her eyes, “Lemme seeeee.” 

“Fine,” Beca held her hand out cautiously, opening her fingers slowly. What they revealed was a rock that was worried smooth, a shade of light grey with slightly darker grey specks. “I’ve, uh, been keeping it in my pocket. For, like….stress. Like…I…” 

“You’re saying that a rock you rub for stress reminds you of me?” Chloe said quickly with her eyebrow raised. Beca’s eyes bugged, and she nearly choked on her own spit before she closed her hand quickly and held it out of Chloe’s reach again. 

“First, gross,” she said quickly, “Second, no. It helps me feel calm. You help me feel calm. And…I dunno with nationals and shit I just feel like you need something to calm you down too, so…” 

“So I have the sweetest wife in the world,” Chloe squealed, taking a hold of Beca’s wrist and pulling it so she could get to the rock again. She held it up to her eyes like Beca did, turning it around before stretching her tongue out to lick it. 

“Chlo!”

“What? Sorry, I needed a full five sense analysis,” she said, slipping the rock into her pocket with satisfaction. Beca shook her head, hopping back on the bed. 

“You’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met,” Beca said, putting her head on Chloe’s shoulder. Though she wouldn’t have done that with anyone else, the action was easy and welcome when it was Chloe, and Chloe recognized the power in this - she didn’t take it lightly. Carefully, she put her head on Beca’s, sighing. 

“You still love me for it,” she said softly, and Beca grinned. 

“You know I do,” she admitted. The rock was in her hand, and she closed her fingers around it until her knuckles turned white, hoping that Chloe couldn’t hear the amount of utter truth that the sentence held - the amount of painful truth at that. 


	151. The One Where There's Too Much Gorgeous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bechloe prompt: one of them has finally decided to tell the other about their feelings and they have a whole thing planned out in their head but then the other gets home and holy crap she's looks gorgeous well there goes any chance for actual words — sent by anonymous

To say that she had been preparing for weeks wouldn’t, exactly, be an understatement. If someone were looking for actual proof, they would find a text on her phone from a month ago, sent to a certain “Aubae Posen” about the matter in particular. There were words written up - typed haphazardly on her computer at three in the morning after a drunken night and then edited a little bit every day until she felt they were coherent enough - and there were plans, or, more specifically, visualisations of how it was all going to be. The where and the when and the how. 

Of course, those plans varied with Chloe’s mood, because sometimes she would think about doing it right after rehearsal, because that was where it all started. Other times, after a dinner that Beca put together or a movie night where she decided to sit throughout the entire film, Chloe would plan something elaborate: a dinner out to eat, a drink or two to loosen up her words, and then flowers and mixes and maybe just the right gift to say it all. 

And this was a problem, because if there was one thing to note about Chloe Beale it was that she was constantly changing moods - going from elated to in love to pouty in a matter of mere seconds. That, combined with a penchant for the dramatic and romantic side of life, made for wildly imaginative plans that were never quite seen all the way through. 

But she was certain, now, that this was how she was going to do it. She’d practiced the words, and, romantic or not, she knew that the best thing to do would be to stop waiting. Four years had been enough, quite frankly, and if she had to postpone for just another hour she felt like she was going to spontaneously combust. So she walked towards the kitchen, smelling Beca’s classic chili cooking in the crockpot. She wasn’t one who spent a lot of time in the kitchen, but when Beca did, she made one of two specialties: chili or spaghetti, the latter of which she horrified herself by burning two weeks ago. Chloe was the cook most nights - a fact that the Bellas never really contested - but when it was just cold enough and there was the smell of cornbread and chili permeating through the house there was always an extra stir of excitement around. 

So she knew what she’d see when she opened the door to the kitchen, and yet she found herself just as surprised. Because Beca was standing over the sink, cleaning off the knives she used to cut the vegetables, wiggling her hips to the song that she’d blasted from the radio. Donning a stained sweatshirt that was cut off at the midriff and leggings leftover from rehearsals earlier that day, she had thrown her hair up in a haphazard bun and there were currently curls peeking out to frame her face. Chloe’s eyes ran over the slight dip in the collar of Beca’s sweatshirt - the bare neck it exposed and the freckle that popped up right above the bump of her spine. The sweatshirt was just short enough for her to see the matching divits in Beca’s back - two dimples on opposite sides of the short space Chloe could see. And she was singing - always singing - her voice the special tone that Chloe recognized from when Beca didn’t think anyone could hear her. It was more beautiful, somehow, because there was a freeness to it, an easiness that Chloe could practically melt into. 

She realized, then, that she had been standing in the doorway of the kitchen for entirely too long, and when Beca turned around to see her, she jumped up, clutching her chest. 

“Fucking hell,” she muttered under her breath, “You scared the shit out of me.” 

“Sorry,” Chloe mumbled. She stepped forward, the weight of the air in the room shifting suddenly when she became aware of what she’d walked in there to do in the first place. 

“What’s up,” Beca asked nonchalantly, lifting the lid of the crockpot to check on the meal. 

“Nothing,” Chloe hummed. She positioned herself on the counter, leaning over with her chin balanced on her palm. “I just…I…” 

She paused. 

She planned this. 

She  _planned_ this. Wrote it down, even (which, if you know Chloe Beale, you’d be surprised by). 

She knew what she had to say. 

“I…um…I have…a thing…” 

Chloe had done theatre in high school, because there was nowhere to sing and in the biggest mistake of West Lake High School, she wasn’t accepted into the cheerleading squad. She was familiar with the dry taste in her mouth and the way the words disappeared from her head. 

But she also knew how to improvise when needed, and she almost never had issues with remembering lines. 

But Beca was standing in front of her, her hands pink with the water’s scalding temperature and her cheeks flushed. Which, admittedly, was not an obstacle she had to face in high school drama. 

“Chloe?” Beca said, waving her hand in front of her face. “You zoned out there. Did you not take your weird ass multivitamins today because I dealt with that last week, and I’m sorry, there’s only so much Bachelor Pad a girl can watch before she starts to think it’s not a multivitamin withdrawal at all.” 

“No,” Chloe said quickly. “No no, it’s not that.” 

She closed her mouth as soon as she got that out, trying in vain to locate a new attack strategy since there seemed to be such an issue with the earlier one ( “the earlier one” which she didn’t recall at all at the moment seeing as the only thing on her mind was Beca Mitchell’s lips”). 

“It’s hot in here,” she finally said, to which Beca raised her eyebrows. 

“Yeah, must be the chili,” she answered, “Pretty hot.” 

“Yeah,” Chloe nodded, her hands gripping the countertop, “Super hot in here.” 

They stood there nodding again mindlessly as the silence engulfed them, and Chloe wouldn’t have tried to torture herself speaking again if it weren’t for Beca’s hesitant and worried stare aimed at her.

“Fine,” Chloe said, sighing heavily. She stood up. “Fine. Okay. So I’m just going to do this. Because I had this whole script - this whole plan - and now I’m acting like the biggest loser on this effin’ campus because the plan seems like a big load of horsecrap right now.” 

“Powerful words,” Beca mumbled, quieting herself when Chloe had the forethought to throw a frustrated glare her way. She held her hands up in innocence, stepping back to make room for whatever strange announcement Chloe had to make. 

“Okay,” Chloe said again, flailing her hands as if she was preparing to go on stage. Jumping up and down a few times and breathing, she had her eyes aimed at the ceiling. Beca wouldn’t made fun of her antics if she wasn’t so curious as to where the conversation was going. “Okay. So. You. And…And, um. Me. We’re good. I…like….I like us. Like you and me. We’re totes a thing. That I would want. And stuff.” 

Beca dropped the glass that she was currently sipping on, letting it bounce off the counter and land on the ground with a thump. Chloe was biting her lip throughout the comedically long cup-fall, waiting anxiously for Beca to answer her. 

“You,” Beca said quickly, shaking her head and closing her mouth. “I don’t understand…” 

Chloe breathed loudly. “Right,” she said, looking up, “Of course not. No. I’m being dumb. Just like…you’re a person. That I like. A lot. And want to kiss. Sometimes. A lot.”

“Oh,” was all Beca said. 

“Yeah,” was all Chloe said in return. 

They stood there, approximately three feet between them just staring at their own shoes until the oven dinged and the cornbread smell filled the air. 

“You should take those out,” Chloe said finally, pointing at the oven where the sound was growing in urgency. Beca blinked, as if she hadn’t realized where she was until that very moment. 

“Yeah, no, I will,” she said mindlessly, her eyes now trained on Chloe. “You like me?” 

“Kinda,” Chloe admitted. “Actually more like totes, but, yunno how those things ar—” 

Beca stepped forward without Chloe ever really realizing it, closing the gap between them so quickly that Chloe didn’t have time to finish her thought before lips were crashing into hers to the tune of the angry oven needing treatment. When they finally broke apart, Beca was smiling widely and the kitchen was filled with the smell of burning. 

“What the hell?” CR had walked into the room, fanning the smoke out of the kitchen with her hand. She threw a quick glance at Beca and Chloe, still grinning and wrapped up in each other’s arms, but thought nothing of it, opening the oven instead and letting out a plume of smoke. “This is the second infraction, BM,” she muttered, “No kitchen for you.” 

“That’s cool,” Beca breathed, staring into Chloe’s eyes, “I wanted to take someone out to dinner anyways.” 


	152. The One Technician AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Can you do a bechloe au where either Beca or Chloe work as a technician and the other one constantly breaks their equipment just to see them? Thank you so much!! — sent by anonymous

“Hey stranger,” she said it sheepishly, almost starting the sentence before she opened the door. With a head leaning against the side of the door, she squinched her nose in embarrassment, and Chloe found herself thinking it was overwhelmingly adorable. 

“What’d you do this time?” she asked jokingly, pushing past Beca and through the doorway as if she was the one who owned the place. Behind her, Beca shut the door, rubbing her hands on her jeans to buy time. 

“Um,” she started, “Just…like…follow me.” She started to climb the steps two at a time, not once looking behind her to see if Chloe was there. The entire house creaked when she moved, and for a few seconds, the air was filled with the silence of the floorboards. Once they reached the bathroom, Beca spun around, realizing too late that Chloe was right on her heel and nearly smashing her nose into the redhead’s. “Shit, sorry,” she mumbled, stepping back immediately into the darkened bathroom. With a nervous sigh, she shook her head, putting her hands on the counter. 

Chloe reached to turn on the lights, bathing the room in a sick fluorescence that Beca winced at. “This room is…different,” Chloe said with a chuckle, looking around at the pink tiles. Beca hopped up on the sink, kicking the cabinets as she did so. 

“Shut up,” she said without thought, “Old owners or some shit. Definitely not my doing.” 

“Yeah, because you’ve decorated so much of the rest of the place,” Chloe joked, putting her bag down quickly. When she looked back at Beca, there was a middle finger aimed her way. She just bit her lip and laughed. “So, Ms. Manners, we’ve been through literally everything _including_ the kitchen sink, what could you possibly have broken for me today?” 

“Br..For…You? I didn’t–” Beca’s eyes bugged open in panic, and Chloe watched her swallow a few times nervously before she finally took a breath and realized what Chloe meant. “You mean what do you have to fix,” she said, more to herself than to the redhead, “No, right, like why did I call you. Because that makes sense. Because I haven’t told you yet so…”

Chloe cleared her throat, looking pointedly at Beca and halting the rambling for only a moment. Beca snapped her mouth shut quickly, closed her eyes, and restarted. “The shower,” she said, holding her hand up towards the shower weakly. 

“Blunt,” Chloe joked, throwing Beca into an equally nervous fit of stutters and stammers until she threw the curtain back and started to get to work, throwing out a casual, “I was joking, toots, don’t get your panties in a bunch.” And then, because she was friendly and witty and particularly enjoyed watching this particular client squirm - even if it was technically against the rules she set for herself - she looked behind her and winked, saying, “Or, do.” 

The blush that rose over Beca’s cheeks was enough to make Chloe laugh again, the sound bouncing off the terrible pink ceramic of the shower and throughout the entire room like bells. “The acoustics are great,” she said after she was done, stepping into the tub to inspect the showerhead. 

“Yeah,” Beca said with a breath, “Trust me, I’m aware.” 

“ _That’s_ an image I wouldn’t mind seeing,” Chloe said mindlessly. She put her hand hesitantly on the faucet, and then spun around worriedly. “Because, like, I’m sure you can sing. That’s….that’s like what I mean.” 

“Okay,” Beca said, enjoying her turn at smirking suspiciously, “Whatever you say.” 

“So what exactly is wr–” Chloe started to ask, but the hand on the faucet was moving without her exact direction, and pulled to turn the water on. She assumed, of course, that a broken shower wouldn’t be capable of…you know…working, on account of the whole “broken” thing. Which, admittedly, she shouldn’t realized was dumb considering she’d been doing this job well for years and never once had the audacity to  _look_ this idiotic. But, in her defense, there was a beautiful girl who continuously and suspiciously broke one item in her house per week, and then proceeded to  _watch_ her try to fix these things, occasionally asking her if she wanted to stay for dinner with an added apology of “sorry I don’t have enough for a tip, but, like, you could…stick around, maybe?”. So, the act was just that - an act - and Chloe saw through it after the third phone call to Beca’s house, which made her say and do and  _feel_ really  _dumb_ things that in all her years of being a technician she never quite had to deal with. 

And that would be the answer as to  _why_ the redhead turned the shower on while standing fully clothed in a client’s home, without once considering the fact that the result of turning a shower on was frequently - almost certainly - getting soaked within seconds. 

She squealed when the water hit her, stepping back but not making a move to turn it off until Beca jumped forward and did it for her. The issue with the shower, it turned out, was that the faucet was jammed, though, which meant that when Beca hopped in quickly to turn it off, it didn’t budge, and together they stood, fully clothed and semi-screaming until finally with the force of  _four_ hands they got the thing to slam off. 

Taking a deep breath, Beca wiped the water away from her eyes, coming away with hands full of smeared eyeliner and mascara. She looked not unlike a drowned kitten, and Chloe found something about that completely hilarious. So despite the girl’s scowl, the redhead started to laugh uncontrollably, clutching at her gut and actually sliding down onto the floor of the still filled tub with a “oomph”. Beca sloshed through the tub, her jeans swishing with the movement, but eventually ended up there too. 

“Sorry,” Beca said sheepishly, the same tone held as when she opened the door, refusing to look Chloe in the eye and choosing instead to fiddle with the wrench Chloe had held in her hands before the whole debacle began. 

“If you wanted me soaking wet in your shower, you could’ve just said so,” Chloe said lightly, nudging Beca with her knee. Beca, again, blushed, hiding her face in her hands when Chloe laugh rang out again. 

“The shower is really broken, though,” she said when Chloe calmed down. She was picking at the loose string of her jeans. 

“But the couch last week?” 

“Yeah,” Beca breathed, “Yeah, that definitely wasn’t.” 

Chloe pursed her lips, nodding and looking off at the window on the other wall, considering something. 

“I’m sorry I’ve wasted so much of your time,” Beca muttered. “I…I’ll get you a towel and then you ca—” 

While she was talking, she was making moves to stand up, but when she finally achieved it, Chloe pulled at the bottom of her shirt, convincing her to stop and sit down again. 

“I’m not allowed to, like, sleep with my clients, Beca,” Chloe admitted, moving her hand from the hem of Beca’s shirt to her hands. Beca nodded, gnawing at the inside of her cheek. They sat there for a few moments, quiet. “…For the record, that’s not an excuse. Like. I’m not saying I don’t  _want_ to.” 

Beca nodded again, still not saying anything. When Chloe’s knee starting bouncing nervously, the water in the tub started sloshing against them. Beca put a hand on the knee, stopping it. 

“Well, that’s blunt,” she finally said, eventually breaking into a grin. “You know, I’m really the type of girl who’d prefer you take me to dinner first anyway, so….as long as  _that’s_ allowed then….” 

“It’s allowed,” Chloe said quickly, which make Beca giggle at the eagerness. The redhead bit her lip, looking suddenly shy. When she spoke next, it was a whisper. “Beca….” 

“Yeah?” Beca answered seriously, looking at Chloe with concern. Chloe pulled her lip to the side, in an “this is awkward” kind of face. 

“I kinda still need to fix the shower.” 


	153. The One With Peanut Butter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fic-it?: Beca and Chloe argue about crunchy vs. creamy peanut butter. Peter Pan or Jif. They also argue about jelly flavors. They also argue about whether or not to cut the sandwich diagonally or down the middle. These are important issues they have to work out before they get married. Unified household and whatnot. — sent by anonymous

“What’re you doing?” Beca asked sharply, glancing up from her computer to where Chloe was positioned at the counter, spreading peanut butter over a piece of bread. Chloe looked up, surprised and furrowing her brow in confusion. 

“Making a sandwich, weirdo,” she said, returning her attention back to the task at hand. Beca tutted, closing her computer. 

“I can see that,” she said, annoyed, “But, like, what is  _that_?” 

Chloe looked down at her plate, not noticing anything particularly out of place. “Peanut butter?” 

Beca rolled her eyes. She pointed to the jar. “Peter Pan? Seriously, Chlo?” 

Chloe shrugged, picking up the jar and inspecting it. “Yeah, it was on sale.” 

“Oh my  _god_ ,” Beca groaned. She spun the barstool around, slipping off of it to head towards her girlfriend. “And here I thought this relationship was going to actually last.” 

“Bec _aaa_ ,” Chloe chided, but Beca continued, picking up the jar with disgust. 

“This….is unforgivable, Babe,” she said. “I mean, not only is it Peter Pan, but it’s  _creamy_?? It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.” 

Chloe rolled her eyes, licking off the knife she was using to spread the peanut butter and turning towards the fridge. “You’re such a drama queen,” she said, “I was saving us money, and I think I should be pardoned for, like, not ruining my sandwich with chunks of peanuts.” 

Beca gawked at her girlfriend, not quite knowing how to respond. “Exc _use_ me, Beale, but _some_ people prefer to have texture and variety in their foods.” 

“Ha, you can’t eat shrimp because you think it feels like eyeballs,” Chloe said mindlessly, but Beca wasn’t giving in. 

“And now I can’t even have your babies, because you’re not a choosy mom!” 

“What?” Chloe spun around, jelly in hand. Beca threw her arms up, frustrated. 

“Choosy moms choose Jif, Chlo!” she said, her voice rising. “Everyone knows that!” 

“Choosy moms choose whatever they can afford, and this lady is currently trying to survive on a teacher’s salary and an unpaid music studio intern’s occasional perks, so forgive me for going with a good deal.” 

“This is more important than finances,” Beca argued. “This is the compatibility of our souls we’re talking about here.” 

Chloe tried and failed to open the jelly jar, handing it to Beca with a huff and a roll of her eyes. Okay, so she’d inherited a few habits from her significant other. 

When Beca took it, though, she made a small noise of discontent before popping the jar open quickly, which, really, shouldn’t have turned Chloe on as much as it did, considering they were having a ridiculous fight about peanut butter and Beca was acting like a five year old. 

“Apricot?” Beca started, which only made Chloe sigh in an attempt to hold her annoyances back. “God, so many strikes, so little time.” 

“Oh. My. God. Beca,” Chloe finally shot back, “You’re impossible.” 

“I’m not the one who prefers the taste of wall paint over the glory of classic grape,” Beca said with her hands up innocently. Chloe didn’t respond to that, angrily spreading the jelly over her sandwich so that it was the only sound in the room. When she started to cut it, Beca made a squeak, which caused Chloe to turn around and drop the food back onto the plate. 

“What now?” she said, her jaw set. Beca bit her lip, eying Chloe warily before deciding to indulge the tension between both of them. 

“Diagonal?” 

“Eff you,” Chloe muttered, taking the sandwich and walking to the other room. Beca quickly followed, knowing she should stop but feeling oddly compelled to keep going. 

“I’m sorry!” she said, rushing to keep up with Chloe as she walked up the steps. “I’m sorry, I just…consider the children, Chloe? What’re they gonna do if they live in an unstable household like this one?” 

Chloe, finally, cracked a smile at that, but covered it up by shoving the sandwich into her mouth and slumping onto her bed. Beca followed quickly, facing Chloe and looking at her with a false sense of seriousness that could be wiped away in seconds. 

“I’m just trying to plan ahead,” she said, semi-softly, “Like you’re always telling me to do.” 

“Oh my god,” Chloe said again, her eyes flitting to the ceiling as she shook her head. “You’re the most ridiculous person I know.” 

Beca hummed, leaning forward to kiss Chloe. When she pulled back, she licked her lips. “Nope,” she said, “I take it all back. We’re over. That shit is gross.” 

“Shut up,” Chloe muttered, pulling Beca back for another kiss. Keeping her distracted, Chloe reached down to her plate and swiped the extra peanut butter oozing from the crust, quickly wiping it off on Beca’s cheek. Beca shot back immediately, her face twisting in disgust. 

“Oops,” Chloe said innocently, shrugging. Beca scowled, reaching up to wipe it off before Chloe stopped her, holding her wrist with two fingers. “You know, it’s a good thing this isn’t crunchy,” she started, “Because I’m not a fan of that, and so I wouldn’t very well be able to do this –” Leaning forward, she took Beca’s finger and licked off the peanut butter, then proceeded to kiss the spot she’d made dirty on Beca’s cheek, effectively licking it clean. Beca squeaked in response to it all, her only way of surrendering without losing all of her pride. 

“I hate you,” she finally said, eyes still closed, and Chloe grinned. “And I’m making the lunches for our future kids, okay?” 

“Deal,” Chloe said, tapping the spot she’d kissed lightly. “Now leave me to my disgusting meal, because I’m starving and that peanut butter tastes  _really_ good.” 


	154. The Walk to Remember AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how about some angst? - a walk to remember au please destroy my soul — sent by anonymous

“She’s changed you, and you don’t even know it.” 

Jesse’s words bounced around in Beca’s skull over the course of the months she spent in Chloe’s house, memorizing the twists of the walls and the way the floral skirts swam around the redhead’s ankles. Because when she thought about it, the shift in her synapses wasn’t a singular moment in the timespan of her life - one pinprick set out like a dot against all the instances that lead up to it. No. It was like an evolution, gradual and building until she had the ability to turn around and see just how much the plates of her entire life flipped. 

When Chloe’s finger ran over the words of their textbook, and she explained how the species of mankind came into being - not like a quick flash of lightning to put us here but a series of impossibly small changes that led to who we are - Beca thought that she understood just how this entire thing came to occur. 

So she learned to stop questioning it, even if those around her - leaning on the lockers and laughing when Chloe walked by with her head focused on the linoleum flooring - couldn’t quite understand. She learned that the chuckles she gained from a harsh comment here and there, aimed directly at the woman who’s eyes made her  _feel_ softer, were worth nothing if she had to endure the after-school glares and the sound of Chloe’s door slamming in her face. She learned that sitting next to Chloe at school, and gaining those smiles from her that seemed so rare - not because she was stingy in her sincerity but because she frequently didn’t have anyone to aim them to - were what she should start basing the bulk of her life on, and she learned, however slowly, that she shouldn’t be afraid of that. 

“She’s changed you, and you don’t even know it.”

Yes. 

That much was true. 

And Beca learned to love that about Chloe - learned that being a piece of clay for Chloe to mold wasn’t the worst thing in the world. In fact, it could very well be the best thing. 

In return, Chloe evolved too. At least, Beca liked to think she did. Because the girl that she’d watch grow up over the series of years that they existed in that tiny town was drastically different than the girl who stood on stage and sang her heart out one night, against the backlight of a room of eyes focused on her. She used to be made of hand-me-down sweaters and hair that covered her face so as to avoid the stares of those around her who always wondered just what her deal was. She used to be kind smiles where others had fierce words, and she used to be quiet answers where others had disinterested grumbles. Now, Beca thought…Now she was fire and rain all rolled together into one. Now she was someone who would try, with a bitten lip and nervous jitters, to go skinny dipping if Beca suggested it with a flash of mischief in her eye. She was someone who would take risks, who would shout if she needed to and cry if she could manage it. She was someone who would be able to open herself up to Beca in the exact way that scared both of them, and Beca liked to think that that was her doing. In some capacity. That was her doing. 

When they started this game, Chloe made Beca promise not to fall in love with her. It was their deal - a vow that Beca laughed off, saying, “That’s not going to be a problem”, because she was, admittedly, blind to the way that Chloe could shine if given the right moment. She was blind, actually, to the fact that every moment was the right moment. That Chloe shone in every instance, and tried her damnedest to hide that fact from people. 

So she realized, somewhere along the line, that she’d failed to uphold that promise in the same way she’d failed so many other things over the course of her life. She liked to blame the instant when they kissed, the world falling quiet around them despite the deafening sound of nature at night. It seemed like the most blameworthy memory, she thought, although there was always something in her that suggested it started much earlier than that. 

“I might kiss you,” she said one night, when they were standing in the middle of the street. She didn’t realize until that very moment how much she wanted that until she said it out loud, the words echoing off the crickets’ chirps. 

She was fearless. Always had been. It was the word that her mother assigned to her at an impossibly young age to make up for all the words other people labeled her under - words like “trouble-maker” and “handful” and “whirling dervish”. Fearless. But now, looking at Chloe and the way her eyes had bugged out, voice being lost in the void between them, she felt more scared than ever before. Naked. 

“I might be bad at it,” Chloe said. Her voice was quieter than the ghost of rain misting over them, bouncing in the puddles on the asphalt. 

“That’s not possible,” was all Beca responded with. Because she was amazed that, at this point, Chloe still believed she could be less than miraculous at anything. She was amazed that Chloe didn’t understand just how much the world bended to her will. 

Later, she decided to tell Chloe just how much she’d failed to keep that promise. Because she felt that that was only fair, and she worried if she didn’t, she might blurt it out one day and scare the redhead away. 

“Chloe,” she started, her words thick like syrup, “I love you.” 

It was something she’d never managed to say to anyone before, because she never really felt the need to until that very moment. And she would’ve experienced some sort of relief, if it weren’t for the flash of anger and pity that crossed over Chloe’s face in that instance. 

“Now would be the time to say something,” she said, but Chloe’s jaw was set. 

“I told you not to fall in love with me,” is all that Chloe responded with, her voice a mix of sadness and frustration, like this could’ve been predicted and avoided if Beca had the proper capabilities. 

Which, really, should’ve angered Beca. She was heat and explosives and most of the time felt like her body and her mind were on different planes when it came to things like quick fuses and short tempers. But now, she just felt broken. Not angry, not embarrassed. Just confused. Emptied. Like Chloe took her by the shoulders and rattled her up. Which, to be fair, was exactly what she did. 

And then, because Chloe might’ve picked up some of that TNT from Beca or because she pitied her in some way, the girl in the leather jacket and the eyeliner-covered eyes learned why she’d made the vow in the first place. 

“I’m sick.” 

The word is heavy, pounding, and Beca digests it too quickly, without chewing or giving herself time to understand the flavor. 

“Okay, I’ll take you home,” she said, moving to start the car before Chloe placed a hand on her wrist. Her fingers were cold, impossibly so. 

“No. Beca. I’m  _sick._ I have Leukemia.” 

And if the word sick was a bomb, this was a mushroom cloud, blinding Beca with smoke and the scent of something burning to make her eyes tear. 

“No,” she said slowly, “You’re 18. You…you’re perfect.” 

Chloe sighed, staring up at the sky. The stars were out, lighting up her face so that it looked blue, like she was underwater. “No. I found out two years ago and I’ve stopped responding to treatments.”

Beca thought she might pass out, fireworks entering her vision, but she pushed through. 

Fearless. That’s what she’d been called. 

“So why didn’t you tell me?”

“The doctor said I should go on and live life normally as best I could. I - I didn’t want anybody to be weird around me.” 

“Including me?” Beca sounded offended, and she hated the way her voice came out broken. Insulted. Injured.

“Especially you!” Chloe huffed, hands flying to the dashboard. Beca forced herself to look away from the redhead, staring out at the street around them, light up by weak street lamps and painting the road in rust-orange. She found that it was hard to swallow, and she wasn’t entirely sure when she started crying. But she could tell by the way it stung that it’d been a long time since she’d done that. 

“Yunno,” Chloe started, her voice matching Beca’s ferocity most days of the week. If Beca was more capable of checking in with her normal self, she would’ve been proud. “I was getting along with everything fine. I accepted it, and then you happened! I do not need a reason to be angry with God.”

“Chloe,” Beca started, her voice goading, but Chloe’s already pushing the handle of the door, slipping out of the car and down the street. “Chloe!” she shouted. The girl didn’t turn around though, veering to the right and disappearing under the nighttime mist. 

And it’s a lot. More than a lot, really, because the one good thing that ever entered into Beca’s universe was going to leave before she even got the chance to understand her. But she shoved down that fear - that insecurity, that instinct to flee over fighting - in place of not wasting a minute with the woman that she allowed herself, for the first time, to rely solely on. 

It was a way of saying thank you, really, for all that Chloe had down to transform the sad existence that Beca was surviving in. This - sticking around despite the inevitability of heartbreak - was the best and most certain way of proving to Chloe that she could see all that was good was a result of the redhead’s presence in her life. It was a presentation of gratitude, even if it was based in the selfish desire to spend every waking moment making each and every one of Choe’s dreams come true. 

Which meant, eventually, coming down to the number on thing on Chloe’s list of “to-do”s (she refused to call it a bucket list, because, as she said, “kicking the bucket makes a clatter when it falls, and I want to go out in silence. If people notice it’s over, they’re more likely to hurt”). She carried Chloe through the earlier parts of the list, straddling the state line to be in two places at once, giving her a piece of paper that promised she owned a small piece of the sky, pressing against the bare white of her back to reveal the color of a butterfly in semi-permanent tattoo ink. When she asked, “So what’s your number one?” Chloe flushed, looking down with a slight shrug and saying, “To marry in the church my mother grew up in. It’s where my parents were married.” 

It seemed like the easiest  thing in the world. Something that wasn’t even a question to Beca but an automatic response. To marry in the church her mother grew up in. The easiest thing in the world. 

So despite the deepening circles under her eyes and the way her skin turned from porcelain to alabaster and a slight shade of green, Beca watched Chloe walk slowly down the aisle, her dress a mixture of lace and silk and holding every essence of fragility that Chloe had come to embody. She was beautiful, is beautiful, and would never stop being beautiful, and all at once, with the sounds of the choir mixing into the heightened walls of the church Beca was always forced to go to on Sunday mornings, Beca was bombarded by the unimaginable miracle that was Chloe Beale standing before her with tears in her eyes. She thought she saw in the water clouding the other girl’s vision, the impossible future they could have together - a flash of redheads running around the house, and Sunday school Christmas pageants with oversized bows and torn stockings. Maybe, even, when Beca learned how to slow down, and Chloe learned how to speed up (which, at this point, seemed like maybe the opposite of what both of them needed…they’d changed each other so much), there would be porch swings and poetry readings over cups of tea, bifocals needed to reveal the words in front of them, because they wouldn’t use their fingers to keep track of the lines, distracted as they would be by the other person’s hand. 

She saw it all in the flash of tears behind Chloe’s eyes, and, she thought, it wasn’t forever. It wasn’t even a second of forever, but it was enough. Enough to make every instant of heartbreak and suffering worth it, and enough to push the most confident “I do” out of her mouth, with no doubts coming close to entering her mind. 

She’d never have it. And neither would Chloe. But there was something there, in their clasped hands and wedding gowns, that promised one day in the eternity of the future, they could come close once more. The glimpse of that world was enough to make Beca wait for that, through the years and years she’d have to spend on this earth without Chloe’s chiding smile and soft voice. It was enough to instill that patience, which Beca couldn’t help but feel was somehow transferred from Chloe’s impossibly steady hands to Beca’s shaking ones. 

And, she thinks now, Chloe changed her and she didn’t even know it. Like an evolution, slow and certain and so minute that most people cannot see it occur. More than that, she realizes, Chloe saved her life. She taught her everything. About life, hope, and the long journey ahead. 

She’ll always miss her. 

But she knows that their love…is like the wind. Or like evolution itself. She can’t see it, but she can feel it. 


	155. The Sick One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So maybe Beca is hella sick and thinks Chloe should stay away/won't let her kiss her so she doesn't get sick too but C does anyway etc etc fluff etc :) — sent by anonymous

"Oh my god,” Beca groaned when Chloe walked into the room with a steaming mug of tea, “You might actually be my hero.” 

Chloe smiled, practically skipping at the offhanded compliment Beca had thrown at her. Beca was slumped in the corner of the room, refusing to lie in bed because “it hurt too much”, half her bodies huddled under a blanket and the other half with clothes pushed up to shirk as much of her body heat as possible. There was a horrendous line of pink under her nose, which Chloe guessed was stuffed because there was a small mountain of tissues being built next to her, and Beca was currently talking like she was wearing a nose plug in some ridiculous but somehow still sexy (?) version of Urkel. 

Chloe, for the record, was very confused by this comparison and her body’s reaction to it. 

But she mostly chalked it up to the fact that Beca’s voice was a mere rasp, and though she could almost  _feel_ the way it hurt the other girl to talk, she also loved the air of mystery that came with it. On the television was some shoddy remake of a show from when they were little - not much else on cable in the middle of the day. Underneath the sounds of xylophones and puppets counting, Chloe bent down to carefully put the mug in Beca’s hands. 

“No coffee?” Beca grunted, and Chloe plopped down next to her, being sure to evade the tissue mountain. 

“Oh hush,” she said, “You need to sleep off the fever anyway. This is  _tea._ Which means it’s _natural._ Which means it’s  _good for you.”_

 _“_ Disgusting,” Beca mumbled, to which Chloe laughed. She looked so small, the covers just barely stretching above her head and putting her in her very own cave, and Chloe couldn’t help but find the whole “discomfort” act adorable. She leaned a head on Beca’s shoulder, watching the girl slowly sip from the cup. 

“But helpful, right?” she said when Beca pulled her lips back, and the girl hated to agree so she just shut her eyes slowly and opened them again in confirmation. When she moved her head, she had just enough energy to smile - the kind that was loopy with cough syrup and drowsiness - looking like she couldn’t even hold her head up for long. She leaned in, eyes geared on Chloe’s mouth, but the redhead swooped back just in time to avoid Beca’s lips, leaving her struggling to gain her balance until Chloe put her hands on Beca’s shoulders to steady her again. 

“What the hell, dude?” she asked (though it sounded more like “whad da ‘ell, dud?” Chloe chuckled, feeling Beca’s head, which was clammy and just as hot as when she left for her morning class. 

“If you think for one second I’m risking getting two Bella captains sick, you  _must_ be feverish,” Chloe said, to which Beca whined, throwing her head back like a child. Chloe sighed, leaning back with the girl and turning up the volume on the television - where they were currently re-learning the letter “x”. 

“But it’s the perfect medicine,” Beca tried, and Chloe again. She sat up for a second, hands slipping under her sweater to lift up and off of her, leaving just a tank top on. 

“You’re a heating blanket,” Chloe explained when she snuggled again into Beca, “I don’t want to get sweaty.” 

“Yeah, sure, use me for my warmth,” Beca grumbled, but she threw her arm around Chloe anyway. “Fuck it, I’m still going to give you cooties no matter what.” 

Chloe, eyes already closed, just hummed. “Fine b’me,” she said mindlessly, and, like magic, when she fell into her afternoon nap, so did Beca, the sounds of the television’s “And viewers like you” being the last thing to enter her ears. 

When they woke up, it was by the sounds coming downstairs - clanking of pots and pans and the incessant beeping of the oven followed by shouts of the other Bellas. The room had fallen pitch black, with only the hall light peeking through to hint at that strange twilight-time between evening and nighttime. 

“Shit,” Beca grumbled, squinting tightly before bothering to open her eyes and strain her neck up. “Chlo, you missed your seminar.” 

“Hmmm,” Chloe hummed, squeezing Beca tighter, although it was enough to clue her into the fact that something was wrong. Her voice was a croak, and even Beca looked down at her worriedly. 

“Fuck, Chloe, you’re on fire,” she said, shifting out of Chloe’s grasp. 

“Well thanks, Babe,” Chloe tried, but she broke off halfway through in a cough that forced her to sit up. Beca rubbed her back in support until Chloe stopped and glared up at the other girl. “I’m sick,” she said, although it felt more like an accusation than an admission. 

“That’s what you get when you sleep with the patient,” Stacie said from behind the door, slipping in and turning on the lights. Both Beca and Chloe groaned at the sudden change in lighting, but it was enough to reveal that they had stripped the blankets off of themselves halfway through their name and Chloe looked to be in about the same state as Beca, if not a little worse for wear. Stacie was holding two bowls in hand, and she left them at the far end of the room before facing them. 

“I, for one, am not going to make that mistake,” she started, looking pointedly at Chloe, “Eat if you want to, but consider yourselves quarantined.” 

Chloe growled and Beca scowled, but Stacie just shrugged and left the room without another word. The television had some nightly news on, but Beca couldn’t hear it over the sound of Chloe’s stone-cold glare. 

She smiled weakly, moving to crawl - it was all she could manage - over to the soup bowls. “Oops,” she said, only, it came out more like “Oopth.” 


	156. The One With the Plane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The Bella's go on a vacation together. They have a VERY LONG delay for a connecting flight. Then lots of Bechloe airport fluff with ocasional disturbances from the other Bellas — sent by anonymous

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Beca grunted when she looked up at the screen displaying their departure time. They’d already been stationed in the airport for over an hour due to Chloe’s obsession with being exactly on time for exactly every single thing they did together as a group (despite the fact that when she was not operating in the group she tended to do everything late…like, for instance, um, graduating college), and now they were expected to wait five more hours. Without thinking, they’d sent Lilly to ask why, which resulted in her getting screened again and a pat-down of all the Bellas after the TSA discovered a very extensive knife and rope collection growing in Lilly’s carry-on. 

To be fair, most of them assumed that any dangerous thing she’d say would be said so quietly that no one would notice, so…they didn’t realize she was a flight risk until…after she became a flight risk. 

They tried again with CR, eventually discovering some excuse about fuel and storms across the Pacific - where their plane was coming in from. Which, apparently, was not a good enough excuse for Beca, who was going crazy sitting in the chairs of the gate with approximately three sets of feet in her face (Chloe was draped over her lap; Fat Amy was on the other row of chairs but straddling them so that the hole in her sock was right near Beca’s nose; and Stacie was across the aisle but her legs stretched over to the armrest of Beca’s seat, and though she had a beautiful pedicure to prepare for the trip Beca didn’t particularly enjoy counting the freckles on her big toe - three, for the record). 

“You’re such an old man,” Chloe chided, resting her head on Beca’s shoulder. 

“It’s five hours, Chlo! Aren’t you worried about all your plans and shit?” 

“You forget that Aubrey helped me with this whole shindig,” Chloe said, “So she even planned for delays.” 

“Of course she did,” Beca groaned. Her thumbnail was quickly becoming raw with how much she was biting it, and Chloe reached out to take her hand, pulling it down from her mouth with a cluck of her tongue. She held the hand, then, to prevent Beca from evading her wishes. 

“Come on, it’s an adventure,” Chloe tried, but Beca just rolled her eyes. 

“The adventure begins  _after_ the plane takes off, Chlo,” she said, her voice dry, but Chloe wasn’t giving up. 

“Think of all the things you can do in an airport!” Chloe squealed, sitting up straight and removing her legs from Beca’s lap, “Think of all the places to explore!” 

“You’re an actual puppy,” Beca said, “And you really need to work on your ridiculous excitement levels.” 

“Shut up, you love my excitement levels,” Chloe pouted, crossing her arms, and Beca cracked a small smile. She reached out to break up Chloe’s crossed arms, and Chloe used the advantage to stand up quickly and pull Beca up with her. 

“Good,” Amy grunted from inside the couch cushion, “You’re leaving. Your married-couple banter was doing nothing for the ol’ shut-eye that some people need.” 

Beca tutted, turning around, but Amy continue. “It’s not your fault you clearly don’t understand the concept of beauty sleep.” 

With that, Chloe linked her arm with Beca’s, heading out of the gate without once reminding the Bellas to keep an eye on their bags (which was exactly what Beca’s laptop - the pride and joy of her life - was and would remain by her side for the entirety of their trip, starting now). As soon as they hit tiled floor, Chloe veered to the right, with an excited “ooooh” at the bookstore that they saw. 

Beca could’ve rolled her eyes. Should’ve rolled her eyes. Because it was a bookstore just like any other, with candy displayed on the shelf near the register and terrible travel books set out for the various mothers with fanny packs perusing. Chloe, though, didn’t seem to see the mundane in any of it, reaching out for a self-help book entitled, “Bible Cures for Irritable Bowel Syndrome”, which she quickly threw at Beca with a giggle and a wink of mischief. There was a small Adult section, which Chloe found immediately and pulled Beca into, surrounded by images of shirtless men and horses along with cursive script. 

“ _In the Heat of the Night,_ ” Chloe read, her eyes gleaming. Beca took a deep breath, expecting the worst. 

“A classic,” she muttered to prevent Chloe from saying anymore. She looked around, her eyes falling on a book entitled, “ _White Horses, Handsome Me_ n”. 

“My new album title?” Beca said with a smile, and Chloe saw it and grinned. 

“Psshh, you wish,” Chloe winked, before reaching behind Beca to grab another title that caught her eyes. “More like…” she examined the book quickly, her grin widening, “ _The Caverns of Love…_ ”

Beca slapped her lightly with the paperback she was holding. “That’s disgusting,” she giggled out, having to hold it in when the cashier glared at them - a feat that was much harder to accomplish because now she knew that she had to. 

They ended up buying a tabloid magazine telling the tale (tail) of a woman being impregnated by a dog ( “Gross but  _fascinating_ ultrasound reveal,” Beca read with a waggle of her eyebrow), two of Beca’s favorite chocolate bars - which Chloe was forced to guess on, and which Chloe got miraculously correct - as well as a bottled smoothie that made Beca gag just looking at. When they left the store, Chloe immediately ran to the shoe-shine place, where Amy was already sitting, kicking her feet mindlessly. 

“Comfy chairs,” she said by way of greeting. “You two do the diddly do in the bathrooms yet?” 

“What?” Beca asked, her eyes bugging, but Chloe just giggled and jumped up on the chairs. 

“Have you ever gotten your shoes shined, Becs?” she asked, ignoring the question. Beca shook her head, standing at a distance from the two girls. 

“Ah, perfect!” Chloe squealed, clapping excitedly. “I’ll be here for your first. How exciting.” 

“Lesbihonest, that’s not the first time you’ve said that,” Amy muttered under her breath, earning a swift slap to the back of the head by Beca, who, admittedly, had to jump to get there but who quite enjoyed her reward as well. “Sorry, you just don’t seem like the type to experiment much before Red came around.” 

“Amy, don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Chloe asked sweetly, eying the way the blush crept up on Beca’s cheeks and from her neck. Amy held her hands up innocently, sliding out of the seat to make room for Beca, who plopped right down and tried to get her heartrate in control. 

“A whole week of that,” she muttered, “G _rrrrrr_ eat.” 

“You love them, Becs,” Chloe reminded, but the shoe-shiner had appeared halfway through her statement, and her eyes gleamed with the joy of meeting someone new so she turned to him and smiled wide, holding her hand out and offering up her name. Beca, as always, marvelled at the ease with which Chloe operated with strangers. She made everyone she aimed her eyes at comfortable by some sort of magic, and while Beca was jealous, she was also grateful, taking the backseat of quiet side-kick anyday if it meant that overall she was on the receiving end of less-obvious glares. The shoe-shine was short - Chloe felt Beca’s discomfort and with converse there was only so much to…well, shine - and with a quick tip and a kiss on the cheek (really, who  _was_ Chloe Beale?) they were off to the next station they could find, which turned out to be a store that  _seemed_ to exclusively sell perfume and fake jewelry. 

Beca watched Chloe weave in and out of the aisles, spraying various scents along the way and almost always “accidentally” aiming it at Beca so that by the time they reached the end of the store she smelled like the inside of a Bath and Bodyworks and had eyes that were almost bloodshot. She was sneezing her way through the store, too, which made Chloe giggle various ways of saying “Bless you”, travelling into several different languages and customs before she started using different voices too - not excluding her mouse voice, which reached unnaturally high levels of pitch and, though Beca would hate to admit it, extreme levels of adorableness. 

“Can I help you?” the worker asked when they were halfway through the store and Beca’s hair was starting to stiffen under the sprays. Chloe immediately sobered, smiling easily at the man. 

“We’re looking for something that says, ‘Elegant, but fuckable’,” she said, and Beca would’ve been shocked at her easy use of swear words had she not been caught right in the middle of a sneeze, which instantly caused Chloe to break out into laughter, clutching her side so that the worker just huffed and walked away. 

They worked like that, travelling in and out of unnecessarily random shops so that the time actually  _did_ move remarkably fast. Occasionally, they’d run into a Bella - Stacie stationed in the coffee shop next to CR to scout proper people for their gazes to fall on. Beca assumed they were scoring them as they walked by, judging by the napkins of tallies they had on the table. Jessica and Ashley were trying on sunglasses at the literal hut that was the airport’s installment of the Sunglasses Hut, and Lilly was travelling around on the security’s cart with eyes wide - everyone guessed she was there by choice and not force, though they couldn’t really tell. 

With fingers coated in Cinnabon madness and stomachs full but aching with laughter, Chloe glanced at the clock overhead to realize that they were about to board. “Shoot,” she said between giggles, grabbing Beca’s hand - which was equally covered in glaze - and racing towards their gate (at the other side of the airport, incidentally). Their arms were full of bags, which banged against their thighs when they ran, and their feet skidded on the floor. Several people in their way stopped in confusion, luggage twisting out of their hands more than a few times, but Beca and Chloe didn’t much mind. It was as if time slowed down for them, the edges of the terminal blurring so that all they could see was each other’s hair in the breeze that their speed was creating and all their could hear was their own squeals of fear and excitement. 

“You made it,” Stacie said, looking them up and down. They were out of breath, giggling uncontrollably with hair that was ruined and wind-swept. Beca reached up and readjusted her bra in a way that was not in the least bit inconspicuous, and Chloe’s smile couldn’t be wiped off her face. CR walked up behind Stacie, pausing for a moment after giving her ticket to the attendant. 

“Shit, I don’t wanna know what you two were doing,” she said, tutting and walking down into the aircraft terminal. Stacie nodded knowingly, handing her ticket to the attendant. 

“What? No, that’s not…we weren’t….” Beca was almost shouting, surprised and still out of breath, but Chloe held her back, arms still linked. 

“Shhh, let them think we had an adventure,” she said with a mischievous grin, “It’s kinda true, right?” 


	157. The One With the Jesse Tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In order to get Beca to admit her feelings for Chloe, Jesse (in total bro-mode b/c they just work better as friends) "confesses" to her that he and Chloe were actually high school sweethearts and all the dirty details. — sent by anonymous

“I  _really_ wish you’d drop this whole thing,” Beca groaned from the front seat of the car, throwing her head against the back of the headrest. Jesse, never one to be actually bothered or put off by Beca’s complaints, just grinned that innocuous smile of a school-boy ready to push someone’s buttons, and tightened the grip on the steering wheel. 

“Come  _on,_ Becaw,” he said, “It’s so obvious you two have a thing for each other.” 

“Gross, Jess, she’s a  _friend,”_ Beca clarified. She was biting incessantly at her thumbnail, somehow finding a way to burrow deeper into herself even though she was already sitting with her feet propped up on the dashboard and her head near her knees. “Besides, even if something was going - which is so  _totally_ is not - what makes you think I’d tell my ex about it?” 

Jesse took his eyes off the road briefly to look at Beca, his hand clutching his chest. “I, for one, am actually physically wounded by the fact that all I am to you is a past piece of hot ass.” 

Beca promptly slapped him on the shoulder, which he tried to avoid and accidentally swerved on the open road. 

“Also, I feel like since you and I have personally transcended the mythological state that is ex-lovers turned best-friends, I think I  _deserve_ to know the juicy details of that sexually confused mind of yours.” 

Beca rolled her eyes, still chewing on her thumbnail, though Jesse would be lying if he said he didn’t notice the way a blush was creeping up on her cheeks and subsequently grin wider as a result. 

Sure, they dated once, and sure the wounds were a little fresh. But Jesse was certain of one thing after experiencing that messy purgatory that is three years in a relationship: he loved Beca Mitchell. And he understood that battle between loving and being in love, because once he was slapped in the face with the break-up, he could see it too. He wanted to be near her, to poke her and pester her and watch her squirm because he forced her to watch movies or bake cookies or whatever activity he drummed up week by week. He liked texting her updates on things he knew she didn’t care about, but about which he  _thrived_ on. She was his person - his number one, go-to, “I have to tell you the greatest news” person - and the fact that they weren’t having sex didn’t exactly change any of that. In fact, it made it stronger. Because he didn’t have to waste all that time asking her what was bothering her anymore when what was bothering her was being locked up in the label of a relationship that she herself didn’t realize she didn’t want. 

So this conversation was long in the making, especially since Beca and Chloe’s relationship had been making him uncomfortable since day one (they  _met_ in the showers for God’s sake), and his level of “wounded puppy” wasn’t going to stop him from forcing Beca to see the thing she wasn’t willing to admit to herself, let alone him. 

He loved her. And she loved Chloe. And so he would help her to get to a place where that was as easy to understand as their relationship was for him. 

“First,” Beca muttered, nervously picking off an invisible piece of lint from her jeans, “I’m  _not_ sexually confused…”

“Questioning, then,” Jesse countered, and Beca rolled her eyes. 

“Dude, you  _dated_ me.” 

“That means zilch, Beca!” Jesse, Beca had noticed, was getting a weird satisfaction out of watching her get more uncomfortable with the trajectory of the conversation. If she was looking close enough, however, instead of trying her best to hide the way her heart was beating faster than usual, she would’ve seen a sort of plan hatch in his face. Behind his eyes was a sudden gleam - a classically Jesse Swanson gleam - that wrote and re-wrote the endings of movies in his head to place in his everyday life. Which was why what followed from his mouth was, “I dated Chloe, too, and she still has the hots for you.” 

“Wwwwhat?” 

If reality were a cartoon, Beca’s eyes would be stretched all the way out to the other side of the car. Her feet quickly dropped from the dashboard, and the word seemed to last impossibly long - as did the stoplight they were stopped at. Jesse, as usual, didn’t really know what part of his brain had concocted this plan - or if it was even believable - but he knew that some of the best films operated on the basis of improv, so he continued. 

“Yeah,” he said, trying to play it off as cool, “In high school for a few months.” 

“What the fuck,” Beca said. 

“It’s not a big deal, Beca, it was just for, like, three seconds.” 

“Jesse, why the fuck haven’t you told you? Why hasn’t Chloe? That’s…did you…I don’t…” 

Jesse watched Beca malfunction, scratching her head as she tried to complete full thoughts while thoroughly enjoying the various looks of disgust that were crossing over her face. He could tell that he caught her off-gaurd, which was just what he was planning. So he decided to push her limits. 

“She was my first,” he said, whispering it in a mock conspiratorial way. Beca’s jaw nearly dropped to the ground before she picked it back up and squinched her nose, shaking her head. 

“No,” she said sternly, “No, there’s no way.” 

“Wanna bet?” he said, looking at her out of the side of her eye. “Because I’m kinda curious how many people in this car know about the tattoo that  _isn’t_ the ladybug on her wrist.” 

Beca opened her mouth to talk, but shut it quickly, realizing that all that was coming out was croaks and surprised gasps. Jesse tried his best to hold in his laughter. 

“Or the way she sounds when she–”

“Okay!” Beca shouted, nearly jumping over her side of the car to stop his words. “Okay, okay, no more, please.” 

She was flustered, he noticed. Her cheeks had grown increasingly red, and her eyes were wider than he’d ever seen them. 

“Someone’s blushing,” he pointed out, earning a quick glare from Beca. 

“Of course I’m blushing, you fucking pointed out that I’m blushing,” she growled. Her hands were pressed against the sides of the seat for leverage, and she was trying to steady her breath. 

“Okay but you  _don’t_ want me to go on? ‘Cuz I’ve got the dirty details that you’ve been trying to imagine,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. Beca was too preoccupied with the way her face was as red as a tomato to properly slap him for such a comment. She couldn’t even throw a glare his way. 

“Just stop for a sec, Jess!” she shouted, her voice piercing through the roof of the car. They’d made it to the movie theater, and were sitting in the parking lot now. Jesse took his hands off the wheel, holding them up in faux-innocence. 

“I don’t see what the big deal here is Becs,” he started, but she reeled. 

“The big deal? The big deal is apparently I want to prolong this weirdly incestuous circle of friends I’ve built around myself, that’s what the big fucking gross deal is….God…this town is _way_ to small.” 

With a squeak that Jesse would never admit to in front of Bumper, his held his hand up in a victoriously fist bump. Beca immediately shot it down with a slap, glaring. “Dude, I’m not kidding, cut it out!” 

He laughed, though. The situation was only made more hilarious by the increasing levels of disbelief and annoyance crossing over Beca’s features. Finally, wiping the tears out of his eyes, he caught his breath enough to calm Beca down. He loved her, after all. And people who love other people don’t exactly give them heart attacks. 

“Okay,” he said, balancing himself in the car seat, “Okay, calm down, O Tiny One.” He flinched, expecting a punch, but Beca was still incapacitated. “I was joking.” 

“What?” 

“Syke. JK. You’ve been Punk’d, let’s find Ashton. Haha. LOL. Joking,” he explained. The fire in Beca’s eyes was enough to consume both of them in that moment. He tried to breathe through his nose to remain calm. “But with good reason,” he rationalized, “I needed to get you to admit that you had feelings for Chloe.” 

“I don–” 

“You said so,” he pointed out, promptly shutting her up. It was the most triumphant he’d ever felt in their relationship. “Which is good, really, because the one thing I do better than boyfriending is wing-manning.” 

“No,” Beca grunted, but this time, she noticed that gleam of planning in his eyes. Throwing her head again against the seat, she groaned. “Why _yyyyy_ do you do this to me?” 

Jesse chuckled, leaning closer to her with a mocking grin. “Because I looooooooove you.” 


	158. The One Where Beca Sings TL5Y

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> beca lowkey likes musicals and chloe catches her singing the last five years soundtrack — sent by anonymous

“You doing okay there, Big Girl?” 

Chloe’s voice came from behind Beca, ghosting over the baby hairs on her neck and sending a shiver down her spine. She’d just shown Beca the possible choreography for their next set, which involved some variation of props and, more importantly, a large amount of gyration (and winks that Beca wouldn’t put it past Chloe to  _literally_ plan), leaving the other girl in a flushed mess that she was currently trying to shake away. 

And the voice that pressed against her back wasn’t doing much to assist with matters. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she squeaked, “ _I’m fine. I’m fine_.” Pushing a chuckle out, her voice followed a flat melody that, with a shaky breath, she decidedly to offhandedly pursue as she was headed out of the room. “ _It’s not a problem, just a challenge. Just a challenge. To resist temptaaa-tion.”_

She sang it under her breath, her head focused down as she grabbed her bag to slip out of Chloe’s room, but the redhead still heard her - her ears accustomed now to perking up whenever the other girl started to sing anything at all. 

“What was that, Becs?” 

“Nothing,” Beca shouted from behind her. She was already positioned at the top of the stairs, which she was grateful for, because she knew if she turned around she’d she Chloe smirking, wearing that confused look that never quite reached from her eyes to her mouth. Her voice changed then, from flat to spiking, echoing off the walls of the staircase. “ _When you come home to me, I’ll wear a sweeter smile, and hope that for a while you’ll stay…”_

Beca sang like other people whistled, walking through the house to a certain tune or melody without really realizing that she’d opened her mouth at all until someone complained that they couldn’t hear the television or was trying to sleep. It was something that Chloe loved - she could understand that base desire, that  _need_ , to get the notes out of her head and into the air, and knew that it could feel like really breathing for the first time. It helped her think, and it helped Beca focus, which was exactly what she was trying to do after Chloe’s little specialized performance moments ago. 

But when she sang, normally, it was from one of her mixes, void of the bass drops and synth beats that typically came from her headphones but still very clearly music that could be found on a radio or played at some dive-bar before the band becomes “discovered”. This tune, however, was different. Chloe recognized it immediately, humming to herself before realizing properly what it was from. 

She’d spent a year in the drama department at her high school, throwing herself full force into it like she did with almost everything. Throughout her four years, she allowed herself to take on four different personalities: the soccer player, the cheerleader, the theatre chick, and the student council president. Each identity took up the entirety of her year, and then, like an old and irrelevant newspaper, was thrown away for something new that coming September. Thus, she’d come to familiarize herself with all things Broadway her junior year at school, memorizing scripts and dances and saving up all that she could to see the shows that came to town. With Aubrey gone, she didn’t tap into that part of her past much, which made her all the more surprised when she experienced that nostalgia around something Beca of all people decided to sing. 

She swung around the entrance to her room, seeing Beca still descending the stairs. 

“Ay, Smalls,” she shouted, which immediately stopped Beca’s singing and made her turn around. She smiled at the way Beca’s face was contorted into a scowl, but decided not to push the whole height-related nickname further. “What was that you were singing?” 

“Nothing,” she said quickly, the same “shut-up” kind of tone present in her voice as before. 

“I mean, it was  _obviously_ something,” Chloe countered. She slunk outside of her room, pressing one bare foot against the first step. Beca fought the urge to back up. 

“Nope,” Beca answered, popping the “p” at the end, “Just a silly song.” 

Chloe nodded, pretending to inspect the banister that her hand was resting on. “Right,” she said slowly, “And when were you going to tell me that you’re a theatre fangirl?” 

Beca’s eyes bugged, and she swallowed nervously, but she forced herself to remain calm. “I’m not,” she argued, “I just, like, know that one song. My mom had the CD in our car or something.” 

Chloe hummed, not satisfied with the answer. So, from the top of the steps, she said, “You know what happens when you lie to me?” 

“No,” Beca answered nervously. “What?” 

Taking a deep breath, Chloe plopped down on the top step, her hands under her chin. “Beca _is over and_ Beca  _is gone,”_ she said, feigning sadness. 

“Dude, you can’t make it sound like a threat. Cathy didn’t  _kill_ him,” Beca said quickly, stepping up on the staircase before she realized what she was doing. Chloe fist-pumped victoriously, biting her lip to keep laughter in. 

“Caught ya,” she said, and Beca sighed with frustration. 

“So what,” she muttered, “I know that one play.” 

“Musical,” Chloe corrected, standing back up, “And if I had to guess, I could go into your closet right now and find some theatre camp t-shirt, couldn’t I?” 

“Jesus, Chlo,” Beca said. Her hands had moved up to her head, where she was scratching at her temple nervously. She figured, at this point, with the way the redhead was leering at her, that lying was just idiotic and futile. “Are you psychic or something, cuz you’re really freakin’ me out.” 

“O. M. Aca-G,” Chloe squealed, rushing to reach where Beca was at on the stairs. “You were a theatre girl!” 

“Emphasis on the past-tense, Chlo,” Beca grumbled, but it did nothing to dissuade Chloe’s excitement. Attached to Beca’s side, she jumped up and down. 

“This opens up  _worlds_ of possibility for our sets, Becs,” she said quickly, “Besides the fact that I’m expecting to hear  _every_ juicy secret about camp…I know theatre kids, Beca Mitchell, and things get freaky.” 

“Gross,” Beca said, trying to pull out of Chloe’s grip but failing. She sighed then, leaning her weight against the other girl instead of fighting. “Take me to my room,” she grumbled as Chloe started to push her slightly, “I’ve got playbills that you probably want to see.” 

****


	159. The OTHER OTHER HSAU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ur mini fics give me life OMG I love them so much! But do u think u could do a high school au minific where beca is the school bad ass and Chloe is the popular cheerleader, but they have a secret fling and they always skip class to heavily make out in the janitors closet? And one day they almost go a lil too far but beca stops to say she's falling in love with Chloe and she doesn't want their first time to be in the janitors closest lol. Pleaseeeee:) — sent by anonymous

There’s something powerful in the forbidden-ness of it all. 

Beca would smirk when she said that - the kind of smirk that said, “You can’t even begin to understand”. She lived under the motto of “forbidden”. She swam within it. With her pocket full of cigarettes, red plaid skirt torn around the edges, eyes guarded by a thick layer of mascara and the feeling of not wanting to be anywhere at all, she thrived off of that powerful feeling. 

And one day, months ago, she gave Chloe a taste of it, getting her hooked and acting surprised when, time after time, Chloe came back for more. 

There was something powerful in the forbidden-ness of it all. 

It was a realization that, up until that point in her life, Chloe had not realized. 

She passed by Beca between classes, her eyes scanning over the other girl’s body before she was swept up by the flood of other students. And Beca looked back, her stare unblinking, with a grin on her face and a finger pressed to the corner of her lip. 

And no one would notice. 

Or, they would. But they wouldn’t suspect a thing. 

Because Chloe was the Friday night girl, stationed on the edge of the football field and masked by the pom-poms she used to cheer on their team. While Beca was the Saturday morning girl, slipping into windows at four in the morning, car still running in the driveway with lights off so parents wouldn’t notice. Chloe was clean faced, the voice of an angel projected from the altar on Sunday mornings. Beca was painted in scowls and heavy makeup, the voice of a devil projected from under the bleachers where she’d go to etch poems into the cement. 

Not only were they from different worlds, but they lived in different universes, and no one had the brain capacity to even imagine those universes colliding in a flash of light. Which was just how Beca and Chloe liked it. 

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t fun to push the limits. 

So when Beca slipped through the doorway of Chloe’s AP Bio class, her face flashing in the window of the door for half a second before disappearing, Chloe promptly raised her hand, using her sweetest voice to ask to go to the bathroom. When she was in the hallway, she wasn’t surprised in the slightest to see Beca there too, leaning against the lockers with an arm outstretched for Chloe to take. 

“Hey,” she said sleepily. 

“Hey there,” Chloe responded, taking Beca’s hand and pulling her close to put the hand on her neck. “I missed you.” 

“You saw me last night,” Beca whispered. Chloe grinned, pressing their foreheads together. 

“But I had to go the entire morning without seeing you,” she breathed, and Beca smiled too. 

“You’re a dork,” she said, but she was quickly cut off by the fact that Chloe had pushed her chin forward, latching onto her bottom lip without anymore prelude. A small noise squeaked out of Beca when they slammed against the lockers, the sound echoing through the hallway. 

“Not here,” Beca breathed, and Chloe nodded, taking Beca’s hand when she turned to head down the hall. She tapped on a door on the right, peeking her head through. When she pulled back, she flashed a smile at the redhead, opening the door all the way. 

Without thinking, Chloe turned them and stepped backwards into the janitor’s closet, hands on Beca’s collar pulling her along. They hit the shelf on the back wall, which shook under their weight. There was hardly enough room for the mop bucket, let alone two pairs of feet, but at the moment, neither girl really cared too much, using the space they could and considering the small room as all the more reason to be closer to one another. 

Beca let out another noise, taking her arm away from where she was bracing against the wall. “Hold on,” she said quickly. She looked at her hand, rubbing. “Sorry, there was a tack or something.” 

“S’okay,” Chloe said, shrugging. She reached out for Beca again, but the lunge made the smaller girl stumble over the mop bucket, swinging the mop handle to almost hit Chloe in the face. 

“Oops,” Chloe giggled, her forehead nuzzling into Beca’s collarbone. Beca held her there, running circles over her shoulder blades. 

“Chlo,” she whispered, her voice barely rising above the sound of the heater. Chloe thought that she could melt under that sound, or, at the very least, fall to her knees, because it was so soft, caressing her somehow. It was spoken with every ounce of care in Beca’s body, and, sure, there was a power in the forbidden-ness of it all. But there was also a power in the vulnerability - in the way that Beca the badass of Barden High became gentle and warm in these flushed moments pressed up against Chloe and the secrets they held between each other. “Chlo,” she said again, hand reaching out hesitantly to run under Chloe’s jawline. “Not here.” 

Her words were repeated, but in the hallway they were said in a rushed tone, hurried with the fire of a lust that couldn’t be consumed by anything but the redhead’s touch. Now, in the closet, they were light and floating, uttered with a resigned patience that held some semblance of worship in them. 

“I’ve got time,” Chloe fought back, lifting her face to nudge Beca with her nose. Beca shook her head, pulling back enough to look at Chloe. 

“Your eyes are impossibly blue, Beale,” she said, reaching up. If Chloe didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought that Beca was trying to touch her eyes - and Beca thought so too, mesmerized as she was by the color. She let her hand fall, though, on Chloe’s shoulder, resisting the urge to  _feel_ that impossible blue. 

“Beca,” Chloe said, because she didn’t really know what else to say. Beca shook her head, stepping back. 

“No, not here,” she repeated, more to herself than to the other girl in the room. Quickly, she sat on the edge of the mop bucket, folding her hands and resting her forehead on it. “I’ve got something to tell you.” 

Chloe fell next to Beca like it was the most natural thing in the world. Here, in the janitor’s closet, sitting next to Beca on a mop bucket, with the air between them surging with electricity, it felt somehow so strange. Unfamiliar. 

And yet, comfortable. Easy. 

She thought that they should do this sitting thing more often. 

“It’s not bad,” Beca said quickly, though Chloe noticed that her hands were shaking. She took them then, stilling the shake by wrapping hers around them. “I, uh, I don’t say this a lot,” she started, turning Chloe’s hands around to bounce them against hers. “Or ever, actually. Like at all.” 

“I know,” Chloe said, her voice tiny. Beca looked at her, relief spreading over her face. She almost smiled, but stopped herself. 

“I love you,” she said, her voice a breath. “Or, at least, I’m starting to. To fall in love. With you.” 

There was a powerful feeling to all of it. But Chloe felt like nothing made her feel quite like flying as that did. “I want to smile,” she said slowly, “But you’ll make fun of me for it.” 

Beca chuckled, reaching up to outline Chloe’s bottom lip with her thumb. “Try me,” she said, her eyes aimed at the lips. Chloe couldn’t help it, her face breaking into an all out grin, which, really, was a muted reaction compared to the jumping and squealing she wanted to engage in. 

That was what Beca did to her, though. Whereas her entire life had been steeped in the dramatics - the shouts and the squeals…claps to show excitement, giggles to show enthusiasm - Beca diluted it all. She took those actions and spun reality within them, so that when Chloe felt something she felt it so completely that she  _couldn’t_ act. Wasn’t capable of it. 

Beca watched the smile emerge on her face, and she matched it. “Beautiful,” she whispered, leaning closer. “Impossibly so.” 

She moved forward to kiss Chloe, capturing her lips quickly, but being infinitely softer than before. When she broke away, Chloe kept her eyes closed for a second longer. 

“So, not here,” she said again, and Chloe bit her lip, which still tasted like Beca’s. 

“Why?” 

“Because,” she said, “That’s not what you deserve. You are worth so much more than a janitor’s closet.” 

She wanted to say, You deserve the way the stars look when you get outside the city. You deserve the flicker of candles, and the smell of apple pie in the oven. You deserve the longest, laziest Sunday morning shower, and the rainbow rings around bubbles that someone in a white dress has blown. 

But she thought that she would keep her plans to herself, so she just reached forward, kissing Chloe again. 

“I love you,” she said again, because now that it came out of her mouth she found that she never really wanted to say anything else. A red hair was twisted around her finger, and Chloe was biting her lip. 

“I love you too,” she said, giggling lightly. 

Then, suddenly, Beca stood up. She held her hand out to Chloe, who took it without question and stood up too. 

“You have a class to get back to,” she said, fiddling with the sleeve of Chloe’s shirt. 

“And you have a study hall to sleep through,” Chloe joked, which made Beca wink. 

“So,” Beca said, hand on the doorknob, “After you, m’dear.” 


	160. "If Lost, Please Return to C Beale"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Has anyone ever prompted (or something similar): after everyone gets plastered at the hood night pool party, Chloe and Jesse go thru the whole "where's beca? I thought she was with you" thing again. Chloe finds Beca passed out on the couch and in her drunken state, she writes on Beca's forehead "If lost please return to C. Beale". — sent by 1dream-ech0

“Jesse!” 

A sober Chloe Beale nearly never shouted Jesse Swanson’s name from across a patio of crowded people with the fervor of just having seen someone she  _really_ wants to see. 

A drunk Chloe Beale  _definitely_ never did, seeing as a drunk Chloe Beale preferred to avoid the boy altogether for fear of blurting something out without thinking that might, in effect, flip her world upside down. Because a drunk Chloe Beale might have terrible balance, poor decision-making skills, and a bad habit of taking her shirt off, but she at least knew how to avoid fucking up her entire friendship. 

But the one thing that drunk Chloe Beale  _always_ did was stand by a drunk Beca Mitchell’s side, clutching onto her to balance as they banged their head to whatever music was or was not playing. And she might have been drunk, but Chloe was acutely aware of how empty her arm was at the moment. 

So when she saw Jesse, she jumped, racing towards him and tapping him on the shoulder. 

“Where’s Beca?” 

Quickly, Jesse looked around, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion when he met Chloe’s stare. “I…thought she was with you?” 

Chloe pursed her lips, considering for half a second the possibility that she was drunk enough to completely forget where she left Beca. But that was ridiculous. Because it entailed the words “Chloe” and “leaving” and “Beca”, three words that never went together unless it was in the sentence: “Chloe is leaving  _with_ Beca - they’re probably gonna make out or something”. 

“I thought she was with you,” she answered immediately, pointing her finger at him accusatorially. They looked at each other, then started to glance around the room, but the hopes of finding a girl that small in a crowd this large was just that: a drunken, drunken hope. So Chloe waved Jesse away, turning around to head inside and nearly tripping over Bumper’s mascot head in the process. 

“Beca?” she shouted when she pushed open the sliding glass doors. “Becssssssss.” 

For all the pounding outside, the house was almost silent, with a couple of High Notes making out on the couch and a very sober-looking freshman trying to put together a broken vase. Chloe walked past them, headed down the steps towards the basement. 

“Beca,” she shouted down the steps, making sure of where she was placing her feet each time so as not to fall. “Whoops,” she squealed when she slipped slightly, “Becs? You down here?” 

There was a light groan from the corner of the room - one that was characteristically Beca’s. (Which, really, it was impressive that even this drunk Chloe could identify Beca by nothing more than a grunt. Although, in all honesty, Beca spoke mostly through grunts and growls, so, it wasn’t all that surprising). 

“Hey sleepyhead,” Chloe sang as she approached Beca, who was sprawled out on the couch in front of the XBox. She was lying face first on the old couch - the one from years ago that had been moved down to the basement when the Treblemakers renovated her sophomore year. The furniture was sporting a design of unidentifiable stains, but Beca’s hair fanned out over most of it. When Chloe reached out to touch her, she just snored loudly. 

“Mmmmm, Becaaaaa,” Chloe said, happy she’d found the girl. She twisted a strand of hair around her finger, effectively pulling it out of Beca’s sweaty face. Then, she leaned in, her breath almost making beer dew drops on Beca’s cheek. “I missed youuu.” 

Beca smacked her lips at that, which made Chloe giggle. “We’re gettin’ old, Becs,” she said thoughtfully, leaning her cheek against the edge of the couch, “Can’t even last through a party.” 

“Wunna slep,” was all Beca grunted out, her voice raspy from the singalong of earlier tonight. Chloe hummed, biting her lip. There was something adorable about Beca like this, all sweat and drool and features softened by alcohol and exhaustion. When she snored, it was like a kitten, and since Chloe didn’t have her phone with her to take a video, she decided to sit there for a while to memorize it. 

In her back pocket, she reached for a Sharpie, pulling it out quickly and smiling. She wrote sloppily, because Beca’s forehead was covered in sweat, and because her hands were anything but steady, but she assumed that since she couldn’t have Beca sitting next to her - or lying next to her - then at least when the girl woke up, she could be directed straight back to where ever the redhead was. 

Only, four hours later, when Beca sobered up enough to feel a pounding in her head but still had enough in her system to feel the room spinning, she went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. She left rubbing her forehead, but no ink was coming off. 

Emily was lying on the ground in front of the bathroom, clutching a pillow like a teddy bear while, a few feet away, Stacie was propped up against the couch that Jessica slept on, caught in a sandwich between a Treble and Ashley. The only person awake in the room was CR, who swore off drinking for her senior year in hopes that it would win back the girl she’d set her eyes on. 

“Cynthee-aa?” Beca croaked, still refusing to open her eyes fully. CR looked up, eyes immediately flying to Beca’s forehead. She cracked a smile, shaking her head before standing up. 

“Come on, chicka,” she said, taking Beca’s hand. “I’ve got instructions to follow.” 

“I dun wanna,” Beca grumbled, fighting weakly to get away from CR. But the other girl just chuckled, walking outside to where Chloe was stationed on a lawnchair, cuddle up in a series of towels that she’d wrapped around herself. CR reached out, poking Chloe. 

“Yo, take care of your property next time,” she grumbled, which made Beca scowl, though she wasn’t really sure why. CR walked away then, headed back for the kitchen. Chloe looked up at Beca, sleepy-eyed and smiling with her hands held up for Beca to join her. 

“You wrote on m’face,” Beca muttered as she slipped in next to Chloe, taking the redhead’s arms and wrapping them around her for warmth. 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to get here yourself,” she answered, “I’d already lost you once tonight.” 

“Noooo,” Beca argued, her voice round with sleepy drunkeness. “Chloe Beale, you’d never lose me.” 

Chloe smiled against Beca’s back, pulling her closer and listening to the sound of the swimming pool and incessant crickets. 

“If you say so, Beca Mitchell. If you say so.” 


	161. The One with the Break-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you possibly do a minific where Beca screwed up so bad Chloe broke up with her. But they end up bumping into each other at like a party or something and beca convinces her to talk to her. And like beca pours her heart out. You can end it sad or happy. Thanks:) — sent by itsalongstory392

She was going to see her. 

Beca woke up that morning with that thought shadowing everything else in her mind. 

On her drive to work, she realized something new: she was going to hear her. The squeak of her voice and the way it curled around Beca’s insides to squeeze her just so. 

Then, as she was putting makeup on for the party, she thought: I am going to feel her. Not in the acute, cemented sense, but in that way that one can  _feel_ Chloe’s presence when she enters a room. She was going to feel the air shift so that it seemed like there was a vacuum where Chloe stood, and she was going to sense the way everyone in the room started to turn towards the redhead involuntarily. 

She nearly took out her phone to cancel, because Jesse would’ve understood, and, sure, it would take a few phone calls of explanation for Aubrey, but she didn’t foresee a situation wherein explaining her absence at Aubrey and Jesse’s engagement party was worse than having to be around Chloe and act unaffected. Nonplussed. Cold. 

So when she pulled into the parking lot in front of Stacie’s house, and sat there with her hands on the steering wheel, breathing deeply. Praying that if she played the rap music just a touch louder she might be able to grow in stature - might be able to face what lie behind the doors. 

She could see, just barely, over the fence to the backyard. Jesse was standing at the grill, with Aubrey by his side, and Stacie was emerging from the kitchen with a platter of something green and yellow. 

It wasn’t until she passed through the gate that she saw a flash of red hair, accompanied as if on cue by the sound of Chloe laughing - the kind that was full-bodied, knee-slapping, and for a moment Beca forgot where she was because she was trying to understand just how a person could throw their existence so completely into the simple act of laughing. 

“Beca!” Stacie sang from the steps to the sliding doors, “Help with the drinks, maybe?”

Grateful for the escape, Beca nodded, following Stacie quickly into the kitchen. 

“I needed to get you away from her before you mauled the girl with your eyes,” Stacie said, “I mean, did  _anyone_ tell you it’s rude to stare?” 

“Stace,” Beca cautioned, reaching up to the cabinet to get out a bottle of whiskey, “Not today.” 

A hand was on her back, patting it sympathetically. “You can just be your usual, anti-social self. Time’ll fly by before you know it.” 

“Yeah,” Beca choked out, her throat burning from the alcohol. “Sure. Okay.” 

Only, time didn’t fly. It didn’t even crawl, really, staying at a stagnant stand-still even though Beca’s level of sobriety was steadily declining. Aubrey kept a protective glance over her way most of the night, one hand steadied on Jesse while the other one was on or near Chloe. The Bellas jumped between the two girls, reminding Beca of her twelfth birthday party, when her parents were still living together despite signing the divorce papers, and she had to bounce from room to room to appease them. When she made that connection, there was a sour taste in her mouth, and she looked at Emily, who was rambling about one of the classes she had to drop because of the way a professor smelled. 

“Hold up,” she said quickly, cutting Emily off without prelude. “I’ll be right back. Hold this for me?” 

Silently, Emily nodded, taking the glass out of Beca’s hand and sniffing it warily before grimacing. “Gosh, Beca, I didn’t realize you wer—” 

Beca waved her off back into silence, eyes focused on the table near the grill. She said to herself in the impossibly long walk from the corner of the backyard to the grill that staring was rude. She heard Stacie’s voice echoing in her head, and she fought to look away. But she couldn’t. Because her jaw was set and her footsteps were steady, and if she broke her gaze then it would all crumble. So she let herself be pulled by the natural tie kept turning her gaze to Chloe all night, and the journey was somehow long and over in a flash simultaneously. 

“Beca,” Chloe said, her voice dry. It made Beca wince. 

“Chloe, hey,” she answered. She cleared her throat, trying to work away the crack in her voice. “Um. Can I…I know I shouldn’t ask this. But…I just…I thought maybe you’d wanna talk? I mean. I do. Want to talk, that is.” 

Chloe actually looked surprised, pulling her head back and looking around before meeting Beca’s glance again and furrowing her brows in confusion. “Yeah,” she said uncertainly, “Yeah, sure. Um…front yard?” 

“Perf,” Beca muttered, already walking towards the gate that lead to the front. She could hear Chloe’s footsteps behind her - barefoot as always and crackling over the grass and leaves with a kind of jump that, even in moments like these, couldn’t be stilled. It took everything in Beca’s power to not reach back and grab Chloe’s hand. She settle for closing hers in a fist instead. 

When they made it to the front yard, Beca moved to sit on the front porch, head resting on her knees as she watched Chloe followed her movement. Then, they looked at each other, their faces turned towards the other person from where they rested on their legs. It was, for a single joy of a moment, as if nothing had happened at all. Because Beca was searching for something in Chloe’s eyes, and Chloe was smiling at her like she held all the answers, and Beca breathed in the belief - if only for a second - that nothing had happened at all. Then, she turned her head away, pressing her nose into the space between her legs and sighing loudly. 

“What’s up, Beca?” Chloe asked, but her voice wasn’t venomous. It wasn’t stinging, or fabricated to kill. It was curious, soft. And there was an ounce of pity there too. 

“I want to hug you,” Beca said quietly, her face still muffled by her jeans, “Right now, I need someone to help me get the courage to say what I wanna say, and I know your hug can do that, and I hate that I can’t fucking hug you.” 

Chloe sighed heavily. Then, Beca felt a hand on her shoulders, pulling her towards Chloe. It was a side-hug, but Chloe was squeezing her shoulder, and Beca leaned into it, pressing her head onto Chloe’s neck. 

“You’re the only hug I want, yunno,” Beca said shyly. “…You’ve kinda always been the exception that way. Like, you’re the only person who can sing N*Sync without making me want to vomit.” 

Chloe chuckled, and it felt perfect beneath Beca’s cheek. She smiled lightly. 

“What I mean to say is that I don’t do well…with…other people,” Beca corrected herself. “I never have, and we can talk for hours about why that is, but I don’t really care to. Because the truth is that with you I feel like I  _can_ do well. Or, at the vert least, that I  _want_ to. I want to say the right things when I meet your teaching assistants, and I want to make your mom laugh, and I want everyone to look at me and say, ‘Yes, she’s the one for our Chloe’. The thing is, though, no one thinks that. Because I’m an idiotic stuttering mess of repression, and you’re…you…and you deserve a movie star with the voice of an angel and the heart of a Peace Corps-Volunteer-Super-Star. Or…I don’t know…more than that.”

She stopped to take a breath, and Chloe squeezed her shoulder once for reassurance. 

“I got scared, Chloe. Really scared. Because you’re so much…bigger than me. Better. Brighter. And I keep you locked into this place. I don’t want to be your kid, Chlo, I want to be your love. Your equal. I want to deserve you, and I think I got so scared that one day you’d realize I don’t. So I left before you could do that. Because I’m dumb. And also have extreme avoidant tendencies, which, really, come from parental mistakes and poor timing during my developmental years, so that’s the–” 

“Beca,” Chloe said softly, her words finding a way to kiss Beca on the cheek to make her stop. The other woman looked up at Chloe, eyes worried and flashing. Chloe pursed her lips, and Beca noticed tears in her eyes. “Beca,” she said again, so softly that Beca almost didn’t hear it save for the way her cheek was buzzing from the hand that Chloe had just lifted to brush over it. “You’ll never realize how bright you shine,” she said, a tear falling down her face, “But I can’t keep telling you that so that you don’t run away.” 

“I know,” Beca said quickly. She reached up to wipe away the tear, noticing how Chloe leaned into her touch. “I know,” she whispering. “I’m not going to run away, though Chloe. Because even if I don’t believe I shine at all, I believe that…with you…I can stand a chance.” 

They sat there, silence pulsing around them, before Beca talked again. 

“Give me a chance?” 

“I never stopped giving you a chance,” Chloe answered easily, moving so that their foreheads were touching. She brushed her nose over Beca’s once, breathing lightly. “And I never will.” 


	162. The With Aubrey's Break-Up Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you do a mini fic where Chloe breaks up with Beca infront of the Bella's, at like a party, because she is drunk and upset that Beca doesn't express her emotions and it's really angsty, and Aubrey is the one to slap sense into her. Asking if she can blame Beca for being emotionally detached. Please :) — sent by anonymous

She guessed that it was the alcohol that did it. 

Because what was there that night was bubbling beneath the surface for weeks inside averted eyes and locked doors, and when they stationed themselves at opposite ends of the room, Chloe could feel something akin to anger burning the back of her throat. 

She guessed that the alcohol gave her just the right ounce of confidence and bravery to speak without censorship - to vocalize without sense. 

“You’ve been glaring at me all night, Chlo,” Beca finally said, breaching the silence and the distance of the room. Her voice was filled with hurt, scratchy around the edges, but the room was hazy enough for Chloe to be able to soften the blow of her hurt with another sip. “What’s your deal?” 

“What’s  _my_ deal?” Chloe spat out, rolling her eyes. It was a technique she’d learned from the smaller girl over the course of their time together, and Beca stepped back, surprised, because Chloe was, obviously and infamously, a ray of fucking sunshine. So when she was able to inject venom into the air with a glance and a tone of voice, it was so much more harmful. “What’s  _your_ deal, Beca?” 

“What?” 

“No, really,” Chloe stood up from where she was leaning against the wall. “I wanna know, Beca. Because the thing is, I have no effin’ clue what’s going on in your head. Like ever. Because you don’t talk to me. You don’t say  _anything_ to me.” 

She guessed - no, she  _knew_ it was the alcohol speaking. Because the words were flowing out of her mouth with entirely too much ease, and she wasn’t certain where they were coming from aside from quick flashes of hurt she’d felt all piled and push deep down so she could smile through it all. 

“Chloe,” Beca said, her voice trying to be soft. She was approaching the redhead carefully, hand out-stretched, but Chloe swiped it down, the action drawing the attention of the room. 

“Beca, stop,” she said, her voice sharp. Beca’s mouth shut immediately. “I wanted to be there for you. I wanted to be the person that you are for me. And then you just…I don’t know…You just shut off. When you’re sad, you shut off. When you’re happy, you shut off. And then what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to help - supposed to _know_ to help - when you don’t say anything?! It’s effin’ ridiculous, Beca, and I just…God. I can’t…I can’t…” 

She paused, her hands flying up to her forehead. She was crying, though it took her a second to realize it, because she felt this entire time like she was watching this movie play out without actually participating. The words stung - they felt honest, and real, but she didn’t even realize she was feeling them until now. 

And judging by Beca’s face, she didn’t either. Her features were arranged in a stone-cold glare, her jaw set and her eyes half-closed as a means of combating the way that everything wanted to just crumble to pieces. When she spoke, she tried to cover up the tremor in her voice. “So what do you want?” Beca said, “I can’t exactly help who I am, can I?” 

Chloe shrugged, taking another sip. It was enough to make Beca’s facade nearly break. She was almost hopping to keep everything together. 

“Fine,” she said, “What’s gonna happen then? We’re just gonna be over?” 

Chloe sighed, not recognizing the blood from the lip she was biting until Beca stopped talking and she realized that she had to talk again. 

“Guess so,” was all she said, her eyes trained on a scuff mark on the floor. Behind Beca, there was a slam of the refrigerator, followed by the harsh clacks of high heels against tile. 

“Oh, you have  _got_ to be kidding me,” she heard Aubrey’s voice shout out, seeing the blonde turn the corner with a hand clasped tightly around a red solo cup. She was dressed in party attire - a black dress that cut off shorter than any of the Bellas had expected from the blonde - and it was strange to see Aubrey let her hair down…. _literally_. But there was still a fire in her eyes, whether there was alcohol there too or not, and when she focused on Chloe, that inherent fear that the glare instilled almost made the redhead step back. “This is idiotic.” 

She walked up to where the two woman stood, handing her cup to Beca to hold. “Chloe? Do me a favor and take your head out of your ass. It’s not a hat.” 

“Hey, don’t yo–” 

“Small girl, I’m trying to help you here,” Aubrey shot quickly, throwing a hand up at Beca to shut her up. “If I were you I would learn how to finally shut your mouth.” 

Beca said nothing in return, which satisfied the blonde, who turned to Chloe and continued. “Beca is the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to your life, and if you for one second think that erasing her from your story is going to make anything go away, you’re more of a ditz than people think. So listen up: Beca is not capable of controlling whether she can or cannot be vulnerable with people. You’re a wildly patient person who lets me vomit on the backseat of her car when there’s no way we can stop by the side of the road. The math isn’t hard to do. Make her open up to you, but don’t push her, and dear  _god_ don’t  _break up with her_ you idiot.” 

When she finished her speech, she paused for a breath. The entire room was still. Stagnant. Chloe though that in that moment of consideration, even the grandfather clock stopped. Then, Aubrey broke the silence again by reaching out to pull Chloe into a hug. It was sharp, thick with force, but it was necessary, and did enough to thin out the heavy air between everyone. She quickly pulled an unsuspecting Beca towards her too so that they were a weird trio. 

“I still don’t like you,” she said quietly to Beca so that Chloe couldn’t hear it. 

“Thanks,” Beca responded sharply, struggling to breath free from the clutches and eventually looking nervously at Chloe. 

“I’m dumb,” Chloe said simply, throwing back the rest of the drink in her cup. “And I want to dance.” 

“Okay,” Beca said, “But…Tomorrow. Tomorrow we will talk.”

“Yeah?” Chloe asked, surprised. Beca smiled uneasily, taking Chloe’s hand. 

“Yeah, it’s a promise.” 

 


	163. The One With Zero Flirting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pls make chloe angry because we really meed more Angry chloe, like chloe is angry because she thinks beca's flirting at the girl at the bar then beca just laughs at her girlfriends face or something go figure! — sent by anonymous

Beca wasn’t a flirt. In fact, the other Bellas once affectionately named her a “blurt”, because, particularly after the Komissar incident, it became painfully obvious that Beca mode of operation around pretty girls was to accidentally shout out particular features of said girl that made her hands clammy and her heart race. 

So, unless Beca was using a corny pick-up line ( “Are those moon pants? Because you’re out of this world. Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I’m going to leave now”), or Chloe was wearing a dress that rewired some circuitry in Beca’s brain and turned her into a strangely smooth operator, it was pretty safe to assume that she wouldn’t be flirting - at least successfully - with anyone on a casual level. 

Which was why she ignored the snake eyes that she felt Chloe giving her from across the bar. Because, sure, she was having a conversation with a pretty woman, but Chloe was wearing her favorite blue top and had done her hair perfectly that night, so Beca wasn’t exactly capable of having her eyes wander. In fact, she wasn’t even capable of being nervous around this woman. Next to Chloe, the girl didn’t even look like someone hot enough to be on the Bellas, if Beca was being honest, and,  _gross_ , she couldn’t believe she’d just used that as a rating scale. 

Still, when Chloe Beale aimed her glare your way, you  _felt_ it, searing against your back, and this situation with Beca was no different. It made her twitch, curving her spine just so to try to relieve the tension of Chloe’s eyes on her, but throughout the lackluster discussion of where to find cheap earrings, Beca tried her best to not turn around. Largely because she was waiting for both of their drinks to be made, and turning around would involve possibly missing the moment where she would be saved by the clink of two glasses on the countertop. 

The girl, though, seemed to notice Chloe’s glare too, stopping mid-sentence and pointing at the redhead with a wary glance. 

“Looks like you’re taken,” she said, her eyes running up and down Chloe’s form with as much judgement as a person could muster. Beca finally turned, finding Chloe with the exact pursed-lip-dead-eyed-glare that she was expecting. 

“Uh, yeah,” she said, looking back at the girl. “Not that you, like, had a chance anyway. Which isn’t to say that you aren’t pretty. You are. Pretty, I mean. It’s just. Um. She’s…yeah…you’re not…This isn’t a thing.” 

“I get it,” the woman said, taking her drink from the counter, “You two are adorable anyway.” 

Beca gave her a weak smile, blended in with an instinctual wince that normally accompanied the word “adorable” (she’s small…she gets it). The drinks seemed to be waiting for the conversation to end, clanking on the counter the minute the other woman stood up from the bar stool. And within moments, she was gone with a polite wave to the table she started at, replaced by a redhead with hands on her hips. 

“Hey, babe, I think this one’s yours…” she slid the glass over to Chloe, eyes focused on the bubbles rising up from the drink to avoid Chloe’s narrowing stare, “But, like, I can’t tell. They should label these, yunno? Like, maybe that’s a suggestion…do they have a suggestion box, do you think? Maybe we can find the manager and then no one would have to –” 

“Beca,” Chloe said sharply, cutting off Beca’s nonsensical soliloquy. The other girl winced at Chloe’s tone, like up with nose squinched and teeth bared. “What the hell?” 

“What?” Beca asked, unconsciously backing away from the counter a few meager centimeters. Her voice was a croak - a squeak, really - and Beca hated that it sounded  _almost_ guilty. She had to remind herself that she didn’t do anything wrong. Which was becoming increasingly more of a challenge when she was under the gaze of someone who appeared to feel very differently. 

“You!” Chloe answered, her voice rising above the music. “You and that…that girl! You were practically  _making out_ on the counter, Beca.” 

And Beca knew how to handle an angry Chloe. She’d been trained for years on the intricacies of Chloe Beale’s particularly redheaded side, learning the slight variations in tone that indicated whether surrender or a night of ice cream and movies were necessary to cool down her temperature. She knew the right responses, the proper body language, and an approximate course of action. So why she decided (although it wasn’t really a decision) to laugh in Chloe’s face in that moment, she will never fully be able to understand. All she knew was that she couldn’t hold in the laughter, even when it made Chloe’s eyes narrow more. 

Pressing a hand to her mouth, she shook her head, holding her other hand up to signal “Wait a minute”.

“I’m so sorry,” she said quickly, still chuckling. When she saw Chloe cross her arms, tongue moving to outline her top teeth, she coughed, standing up straighter. “No, no, I’m sorry. I am. It’s just…” the laughter bubbled up again, but she fought it, “That’s ridiculous, Chlo.” 

“Oh my god!” Chloe squealed, throwing her hands up in frustration. “First you practically cheat on me, and then you have the  _audacity_ to call me ridiculous! Beca Mitchell, you really don’t know your bounds.” 

“Uh, Chloe Beale?” Beca said, her voice trying desperately to tamp down Chloe’s raging on. She put a hesitant hand on Chloe’s shoulder, which Chloe promptly shrugged away from. Beca moved the hand to put in her pocket coolly. “You really don’t know your girlfriend.” 

“Excuse you, I know my girlfriend enough to know when she’s flirting right in front of me,” Chloe spat back. She took the glass in front of her, and for a single second of a moment, Beca thought she was going to be drenched in whatever fruity concoction Chloe had her order. But the redhead just slammed her foot sharply against the floor, huffing an angry but dignified, “Humph” before turning to head towards the dance floor. Beca reached out, grabbing Chloe by the arm and pulling her back somewhat forcefully. 

“Chloe,” she chided, hand tightening still around the girl’s arm, “Be real here.” 

“I  _am_ being real, Beca!” Chloe said loudly, making several people at the bar turn towards them. Beca gave them all a polite but scared smile, pulling Chloe in closer and pointing a finger in her face. 

“I can’t flirt to save my life,” Beca whispered harshly, nose to nose with Chloe, “And you look fucking hot tonight, so I would have to be the world’s biggest idiot to notice anyone but you. So will you please stop being way too in love with me to notice  _reality_ and start trying to pull me away from the bar to dance, because I seem unwilling but I love this song and the way you look tonight.” 

She threw Chloe a glare, her eyes wide and her jaw set in determination. After giving the girl a once-over, she started again. “Got it?” 

Chloe’s composure melted through Beca’s monologue, crossed arms going down to her sides and furrowing brow becoming dreamy, with eyes glazed. By the end, she was grinning like nothing had happened, the only sign of venom in her being the flash of her incisors and the predatory glance she was casually throwing at Beca - blended only slightly with admiration of sorts. Beca, now bothered that she had to give any speech at all, reached up quickly to kiss Chloe - just a short peck on the lips, ending with a finger wagged in the Chloe’s face. Giggling and not aware that she’d don’t anything wrong at all, Chloe leaned forward and jokingly bit at the finger being jammed into her face, laughing when Beca squealed and jumped back. 

“Crystal clear,” she said, biting her lip and throwing innocent eyes at Beca that made the other girl’s grimace turn into a goofy grin. 

“You’re insane,” she muttered, taking her drink and sipping from it. 

“You  _love_ it,” Chloe argued back, with eyes that gleamed with a touch of mischief and that glitter of leftover anger that Beca, in spite of herself, did really love. 

 


	164. More Drunk Bechloe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More drunk chole and beca things please — sent by stillintoak47

She reserved her Wednesday nights for Chloe and no one else. Which, admittedly, sounded dirtier out loud than it ever did in her head, but regardless, Wednesday nights were what Chloe dubbed, “Captain Bonding Time” (which, apparently,  _also_ sounded dirty, but that was largely because Chloe enjoyed adding a winky face every time she texted about it). One of them would come with one to two bottles of alcohol - depending on the progress of the week - while the other was responsible for food and an activity. Which normally meant that they had an expensive bottle of wine (Chloe) with burgers and prank calling (Beca)  _or_ a cheap bottle of something purposely horrendous with some organic salad and a 1,000 piece puzzle. 

Whatever the details surrounding the Wednesday night in particular, the two always ended up sleeping on the floor of Chloe’s room after downing entirely too much alcohol and not nearly enough of whatever food they’d put together. The activity took up a whopping 5% of their total “bonding” time, because the rest of it was filled with drunken laughs and embarrassing stories and  _maybe_ \- just  _maybe_ \- a few unabashedly lingering stares. 

To say that Beca liked Wednesday nights would be to drastically under-credit the amount of excitement that carried her through the main hump of the week. But she assumed that drastically under-crediting things was probably better than completely acknowledging just how much she enjoyed those Wednesday nights, so, she stuck with the phrase “moderately innervated” to describe her general feelings about Wednesday nights. For safety reasons. 

It was fun, to say the least, and sitting here on Chloe’s floor was maybe the most Beca ever felt like she  _didn’t_ have to care about anything at all. She didn’t have to care about the chocolate coating the side of her mouth, or the way that she snorted when she laughed, or the amount of homework that no doubt would plague her tomorrow morning along with the pounding headache she didn’t really want to think about. No. It was all cloudy haze and giggles until her abs hurt. 

“That’s not true,” Chloe breathed out between ear-splitting laughs, clutching her side like she needed to hold herself together. Beca was resting on Chloe’s stomach, her hair fanning out around the floor, dangerously close to the pasta Chloe’d made for the occasion. 

“S’totally true,” Beca muttered, reaching up to poke Chloe in the stomach. “You think that  _I’m_ prettyyy.” 

“You’re drunk,” Chloe giggled. 

“S’re you,” Beca argued. Chloe was curling Beca’s hair around her fingers, one hand resting behind her head. “N’d I’m jus’ tellin’ the truth.” 

“Ohmygod,” Chloe sat up straight, gasping and knocking Beca off of her lap with a thump. “Bbbeca Mitchelll, ‘Ve got an idea!” 

Which, on a normal night, was a sentence Beca grimaced at. Because Chloe Beale and ideas normally involved all of the Bellas streaking across the Barden football field or starting a musical in the cafeteria. But, they were working their way through the tail end of a second bottle of wine, and those words sounded considerably less ominous - almost inspiring - when Beca was inebriated enough to not feel her head thump against the floorboards. 

Oh, and when Chloe Beale was excited about something…yeah…Beca wasn’t exactly someone who enjoyed saying no. 

“What?” Beca asked, reaching her hands up to Chloe’s and waiting for her to pull her up. When she did, Beca stood up with a jump, then stood for a moment to try to stop the room spinning. Chloe giggled at her, holding her elbows to regain balance. 

“Bowling!” 

“Bowling, what the—Chlo, wait!” Beca raced out of the room after Chloe, who was already running dangerously fast down the stairs for someone who just seconds earlier couldn’t stand straight. 

When she stopped, she was out of breath, holding onto the kitchen counter and watching Chloe with suspicion. 

“I don’ know how you’re like that,” Chloe mumbled, “F’ter four years f’cardio.” 

“Shut up,” Beca grumbled, hopping ungracefully onto the counter. She watched as Chloe reached up towards the spice cabinet, the hem of her shirt sliding up ever so slightly. Chloe looked over her shoulder, wiggling her bottom. 

“You like wha’you see?” she said, laughing when Beca blushed and looked away, her eyes suddenly hyper-focused on the kitchen sink. 

Chloe had started taking all the spices out of the cabinet, placing them carefully at the doorway of the kitchen. Beca watched the whole time, humming a Ke$ha song and twisting her hair. It was only until Chloe pulled an orange out of the fridge with a victorious “Aha!” that Beca became concerned by what this bowling might actually entail. 

“You gon’ help at any point, Bbbeca?” Chloe asked, leaning on the doorframe. Beca rolled her eyes, slipping off the counter with an “oomph” and standing in front of Chloe. The redhead pointed at the spices, then pointed down the hall. 

“These,” she said, “Over there. Bowling.” 

“You keep sayin’ bowling, but I dunno wha that means,” Beca said, but Chloe just reached her chin up onto Beca’s shoulder. 

“Hmmm, use your imagin-tion,” Chloe murmured, giggling when Beca shivered and stumbled as she carried the spices to the other end of the hallway. She set the spices in the most precise triangle she could manage, focusing for entirely too long with her tongue sticking out of her mouth. She felt Chloe watching her, at one point throwing up a middle finger when Chloe laughed at one of the spices falling down. When she stood up, she breathed out excitedly, glancing over at Chloe with a thumbs up that was met with the brightest, sloppiest smile Beca had recorded seeing from Chloe. 

“P’rfect,” Chloe said, clapping excitedly. “Now, mov’. I’m bowlin’.” 

She pulled her face, furrowing her eyebrows and staring at the “pins” for a little too long. Beca moved down the edge of the hallway carefully, putting her hands on Chloe’s hips and scaring the focused girl so that Chloe jumped and squealed, dropping the orange. 

“Gotchu,” Beca said with a laugh, her hands still on Chloe’s hips. Chloe hummed, tapping Beca on the shoulder in a mock slap and turning to pick up the orange.

“F-fine,” she slurred, “Your turn, then.” 

“Fine,” Beca fought back, taking the orange. 

“But,” Chloe started as Beca leaned down to start her round, “Y’better hope y’get a strike. S’strip bowlin’.” 


	165. The One Where Jesse's Gay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok I have a better minific idea.. Where beca is with Jesse they just started dating and she's hanging out with chole awhole lot she kind of has feelings for her and vice versa but she likes Jesse then boom Jesse tells her he's gay.. And go — sent by stillintoak47

She thought about the trashy reality show that Chloe made her watch last night, and about the way she rolled her eyes when the woman on the screen cried about loving more than one person. “I didn’t think it was possible, but now I see that it is. Because it’s happening to me,” the woman said, which made Beca snort and Chloe respond with a corresponding slap on the arm. She thought about it now, while doodling in the margins of the “notes” she was taking during this particular lecture (which, really, did she need to be here at all? The professor didn’t even take attendance), and it seemed less funny. 

Unless you considered the horrible irony of mocking a satire of your own life alongside the person who was causing the actual conflict to be a humorous situation. Which Beca  _normally_ would, but since she was the person in question here, it seemed a lot more painful and a lot less hilarious. 

Because the truth of the matter was that she really did love Jesse. It was slow, gradually building into something she could live with - laugh with. It was like a gray eventually turning blue, or the way a bathtub is scalding hot and then becomes just warm enough for you to climb into. It was easy with Jesse, and she felt like she could be a version of herself that she liked to be when she was with him - she was honest, could confide in him in a way that she tended to hide from other people. And while she couldn’t shake the feeling of loyal-puppy-and-his-owner, or maybe a less extreme “little brother” dynamic, she knew that whatever she felt warming up in her chest was love. It might not have been “OMG let me make out with you” love, but she wasn’t sure she could identify that if she was slapped in the face with it anyway. 

Only, as the walking pile of contradictions that a almost goth acapella singer would be, she also had to admit to herself that she  _might_ currently be being slapped in the face with that “OMG let me make out with you” love. Maybe. Possibly. Definitely. Because when she was around Chloe, all of her insides hurt, like she was riding on a rollercoaster that was somehow always going up and also always falling down at the same time. Chloe, would wasn’t a gradual building love in her life, but an immediate one. Like a firework of blue that lingered in the sky, or a boiling pot of water that burns to the touch. Sure, it was easy with Chloe, and she was more herself than she was with anyone else, but there was also a flutter there. A feeling of hope that something might accidentally happen so that her life becomes like all the movies Jesse made her watch. And she couldn’t help but feel like the dynamics and the roles were so wildly reversed: her best friend was her boyfriend, and her girlfriend was her best friend, and if the feelings matched the labels then everything would be so easy. 

Or, at the very least, more clear. More certain. 

She slid out of class like she always did - quietly, quickly, and without throwing a glance at any of her peers or her professor. Heading to Jesse’s room on instinct, she threw open the door to find him lying on his bed, eyes geared towards the ceiling. 

“Earth to Geek Nerd,” Beca said, “Calling all Geek Nerds…” 

She sat down cautiously on the edge of the bed, smiling when Jesse glanced down at her and waved weakly. 

“What’s up, dude?” she asked, deciding that if he didn’t want to talk about whatever made him magically immobile (she’d never seen him sit this still), she wouldn’t budge. Because while she was learning how to crack down her own walls with the help of Jesse and Chloe, she still believed that it wasn’t her job to crack others. 

“I want to…” Jesse sat up, grunting as he did so, “I want to talk to you.” 

Beca’s eyes bulged on instinct, and she hated herself for the way her heart started beating faster. “I want to talk to you” was a sentence she’d grown familiar with, between her parents’ split and her father’s college-LA proposal…aside from so much more. Her body had a reaction to it before her brain did, although her mind normally matched however her body reacted - fear, fear, and, yes, more fear. What made matters worse was that Jesse recognized that fear and trudged onwards without correcting it. 

“I don’t really know how to say what I’m going to say,” he started, but Beca held up her hand. 

“Don’t hate me, but if this is about Chloe, I’m sorry, she just…we just…like….I can cut back on my Chloe time, you just know how she is about bonding. It’s important to her, or whatever, and so if it’s important to her the–”

“No,” he interrupted her, putting his hands on her shoulders and forcing her to stop. She hated the way he made her calm down, staring her in the eyes like he was a babysitter asking for her to stay seated. “It’s not about you. Or her. But we’ll get back to that.” 

She squinched her nose in discontent over that, shrugging out of his grip. “Okay,” she sighed, scooting further up on the bed. “Hit me.” 

“Right,” he said. “I’m just going to say it. Okay?”

“Yeah, Jess,” Beca said, growing exasperated, “Go.”

“I’m gay,” he spat out, his eyes closed and his hands balled into fists. The word seemed muffled coming into Beca’s ears, and she felt like she had to move through a cloud to get to him.

“You’re…” 

“Yeah,” he finished for her, putting a hand on her knee. “It’s not like…I mean…You weren’t the person ‘who made me realize’ or anything. You know. It’s not like that it’s just…” he paused, standing up, “You’re really awesome. And nice. So. It worked.” 

“And you knew?” Beca asked, causing Jesse to wince. He turned his attention to the shelf of comic books Benji had set out, fiddling with them. 

“Yes,” he admitted, “And I’m so sorry I used you but I–”

“Oh, I don’t care,” Beca said quickly, causing Jesse to turn around, surprised. “I’ll be your beard, or whatever. That’s chill. I just…like… _how_? Yunno?” 

“What?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing. He sat back down on the bed, comfortable now that he knew he wasn’t in trouble. 

“Well, like,” she stopped to breath out, frustrated as her hands reached up to scratch her forehead, “ _How._ How did you know and all that?” 

Jesse grinned slightly, turning his attention to his hands. He didn’t want to make Beca uncomfortable. Shrugging, he said, “I just did. Sometimes, you realize that when you’re with someone you have that…like….flippy floppy feeling.” 

He bounced his hand as he talked, up and down to explain the feeling better. Beca scooted up, getting closer to him. “What do you mean?” 

“Like…um…” he snapped, getting an idea, “You know how it’s like in movies? When they all talk about butterflies and clammy hands and feeling nervous and stuff?” 

“Yeah, all that bullshit,” Beca nodded, but Jesse smiled, taking her hands. 

“But that’s the thing,” he said, “If it’s the right person, that stuff not’s bullshit. And sometimes we’re kinda…sometimes we don’t realize who the ‘right person’ is. We limit ourselves because…well, we’re…told to. To limit ourselves. But it’s like if you zoom out and readjust your framing for a second, then those butterfly feelings they talk about in movies? That’s, like, real…” 

Beca was biting her lip as he was talking, so much so that the taste of blood was strong in her mouth. Jesse let go of her hands, wiping his on the front of his jeans. “I dunno,” he said, shrugging. “That’s just how it is for me.” 

Beca sighed, looking at the wall and thinking again about the television show she watched last night. She was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that her legs had fallen asleep beneath her. 

“Sorry,” he said, “For, like, springing this on you.” 

“Bro,” she said, punching him lightly on the shoulder. It felt staged, wrong almost, but she did it anyway. To break the tension. “No big deal. I think I’m supposed to say I’m proud of you and all that?”

Jesse smiled, “That’s in the script, yeah.” 

“Right,” Beca nodded, pulling Jesse in for a rare hug, “I’m proud of you. And all that.” 

When she pulled away, Jesse kissed her lightly on the cheek. 

“Nothin’?” Beca asked, eyebrows raised. Jesse chuckled. 

“Nada,” he said, then he sighed heavily, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “But you didn’t need me to tell you that.” 

“What’d you mean?” Beca asked, the numbness in her legs growing extremely uncomfortable. She felt like she was going to be sick, and the suddenness of that was shocking. He reached up, pushing a hair of hers back. 

“Beca,” he said lightly, “Pan out. Reframe. And then let yourself follow those butterflies, maybe?” 

She didn’t know she was crying, but he wiped away a tear, and she looked at his wet thumb in shock. “Sorry,” she said quickly, “I dunno why….sorry…” 

She stood up then, wobbling on her legs. Her headrush blinded her momentarily. She started to race out of the room, but stopped when she was in the doorway. 

“You’re saying what I think you’re saying, right?” she asked, and he chuckled. 

“You tell me?” 

She swallowed sharply, her breath shaky. Her hand on the doorknob was clammy, and she wasn’t sure why everything felt so certain when it felt like it was all crumbling at the same time. She wasn’t sure how that could be true. Especially because she woke up this morning with the conviction that she had a boyfriend. And a best friend. And she loved them, maybe in different ways, but in no definite label that she could concretely address. 

But there was something about Jesse’s confession that clicked in Beca’s brain, like a part of her was unlocked and when she walked in - or even simply peered in - it was like every jumbled file in her mind was hit on it’s side against the table and made to be straightened. 

So when she said it, it felt right. Maybe not certain, and maybe not well thought out, but right. Like it fit, even if it wasn’t yet her style. Like it made her feel good, even if she wasn’t able to face it’s price tag quite yet. 

“I think I’m in love with a girl,” she said, her voice remarkably close to cracking. “And I think she’s Chloe, and I think that the ‘I think’ is really ‘I know’.” 

Jesse smiled, then started a slow clap that was such a trademark Jesse Swanson move that Beca  _had_ to roll her eyes. When he stood up, facing her, he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. 

“You just  _had_ to steal my coming-out thunder, didn’t you, Becs?” 

Beca shrugged, breathing out a sigh of relief. She felt like she’d just run a marathon. She felt like she’d never breathed clearly before. 

“You know,” she said, “That’s what double-beards are for.” 


	166. The One With Secret Dating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE A PROMPT FOR U. bechloe are secretly dating. they have the bella house to themselves for spring break so while chloe is shopping, beca stays home and decorates chloe's room so it's all romantic (dim lights,candles,music,etc) then she gets an idea to wear her best underwear and wait for chloe on her bed. except stacie comes home early, and walks in on beca in her "sexy" position on the bed (it isn't sexy at all) and stacie isn't even fazed by it. chloe comes home to see beca mortified. — sent by eliseboobman

Beca wasn’t a planner. Dates and times and to-do lists got stuck in her head like a car on the side of the road, and whenever she tried to press on the gas to get past it, her mind just stalled - making this terrible noise and slamming against the numbers on the calendar again and again without actually making any headway. So, really, Chloe should’ve been more than pleased by Beca’s forethought on this particular night, because she was preparing all week with hidden lists and internet searches to put together the best possible “Chloe Beale” night she could (which involved an adventure into Pinterest that Beca did  _not_ care to revisit, because if one thing was more traumatic to her than planning, it was the dreaded D.I.Y….which was, admittedly, one of Chloe’s all time favorite things. She wondered sometimes why the universe thought they were compatible, but then she remembered just how grateful she actually was that Aubrey existed for all of those particularly Beale-ian whims). 

But, because Beca was less-than used to planning for things, what she conveniently failed to consider was the reality that most plans - for better or for worse - don’t go…err…as planned, so to speak. Which was why, when she heard the front door open and she ran to the edge of the bed, leaning on it just so and glancing quickly in the mirror to re-adjust her cleavage to fall in a way that somewhat resembled the “ _all of this”_ that Chloe had to offer, she didn’t think for one second that anyone but Chloe would walk into her bedroom as she hummed out a sultry (or, admittedly, as “sultry” as a certain Beca Mitchell could get) “In here”. She was not greeted by a redhead, though, but instead a busty brunette, storming through the door without a single consideration for the candles splayed out around the house. 

“Becs, you’ve really got a serious fire haza–Oh my!” 

When asked later, Beca would vehemently deny the scream that she let out when she saw Stacie’s legs step confidently into the room. Stacie’s hand flew to her mouth - an attempt to cover up the smile that was slowly spreading on her face - as Beca’s flew to cover herself up, and both of them were surprised by the quickness by which Beca was able to curl back into herself after being so sprawled out on the bed. 

“Beca Mitchell, I must say, I’m not terribly surprised,” Stacie hummed, glancing around the room, “Everyone wants a piece of the hunter - even the monogamous ones.” 

“Gross, God,” Beca muttered. “No, that wasn’t…God…can you, like, not…look here for second? That would be dope.” 

“I don’t know what you’re so ashamed of,” Stacie said, letting her eyes flitter upwards at Beca’s command, “I always kinda guessed you got it going on under all that goth gear. Here’s to being proven right, eh?” She flashed her eyes down, holding her hand out for a high five but receiving a flushed glare instead. Beca was halfway through putting a shirt on, her hair - which _had_ been perfectly curled - sticking up at it’s ends from the static. 

“Thanks,” she said sharply. “God, there’s no such thing as fucking privacy in this house.” 

“Oh Becs,” Stacie said mockingly, pouting and following Beca out of the room as the other girl hopped to get her sweatpants on and quickly went around blowing out the candles, “Is the wee one embarrassed?”   

“No! I–” Beca paused, turning around to take a deep breath and steady her hands on her forehead, “No. I just wasn’t expecting you, is all.” 

“I would hope not,” Stacie said, grinning, “Not that I’m not down. Cuz ladies aren’t really crossed off my to-do list, if you know what I mean.” 

“Stacie, please,” Beca shot out, “Can you, like, not?” 

“Sorry,” Stacie answered, rolling her eyes, “I didn’t realize you got so touchy when you weren’t…uh…getting touchy.” 

Beca shot her another glare, to which Stacie looked away, licking her finger and her thumb and extinguishing one of the candles with her hand. The garage door opening made the entire house vibrate, and Beca jumped at the sound. 

“Chloe,” she groaned, picking up the candles.  _This_ was exactly why she didn’t plan things. Because the universe had a thing for getting her hopes up and then dipping her slowly into a terribly lukewarm vat of humiliation. So that she was still butterfly-in-her-stomach-y about the thought of Chloe and the smell of the vanilla lotion she’d bought just for the occasion on her hands, but was completely and unfortunately aware of the impossibility of that night and those plans coming to fruition, especially seeing as Stacie was giving her a knowing grin that was making her blush so much she assumed she was a fucking tomato. 

And she knew Chloe liked pasta, but she had to assume the girl didn’t have a big thing for tomato-like girls in sweatpants and faces still recovering for horrifying naked dreams-turned-reality. 

“Honey, I’m…Oh!” Chloe stopped when she walked into the doorway enough to see Stacie, who was still grinning at Beca with a kind of predatory glance that Beca wished she could wipe away for Chloe’s sake. 

“Chloe, heyyyy,” Beca said, pulling her face and stretching the word out into the silence so that Stacie giggled at the sound. 

“Becs, what’s up with the candles? And…Stacie? You’ve got two more days with the internet dude…” Chloe had dropped the shopping bags she was balancing in her hands in favor of sticking an index finger up and eying the girls suspiciously. She saw immediately the different shape of Beca beneath her shirt (okay, so she had eyes that had a particular goal when she saw her girlfriend…so what?), and the assumptions that came with the push-up made her eyes jump between Beca and Stacie. “Were you two…? Oh my god. Ohmygod.” 

Sitting down, Chloe started to fan herself, realizing that the air in the room had suddenly become much thicker than it was only seconds ago. Beca rushed to her side though, pressing a hand to her shoulder and beginning to concretely deny whatever thought rushed through Chloe’s mind in a panic. Stacie, all the while, was just laughing. 

“You think  _she_ could get with  _me_?” Stacie said incredulously, earning a glare from both girls. She held her hands up innocently, looking away. “Okay, Red, you’ve really gotten that whole ‘I hate the world’ look down from your girlfriend and it freaks me out a little.” 

“Shut it,” Beca shot, still rubbing circles on Chloe’s back. Chloe, though, had cleared her mind of the misunderstanding, starting to breathe easier. 

“So if you weren’t…then…then why is Stacie looking at you like she’s seen you naked?” Next to her, Beca groaned while Stacie smiled - the only comparison Beca could make in that moment was one involving a meat-hungry hyena. 

“Because I  _have_ ,” Stacie said, eyes flashing. Beca shifted uncomfortably. 

“Like, half,” she said quickly, “My…bits…were covered.” 

“Not enough,” Stacie snorted, which made Beca cover her face in her hands. Chloe looked at her, watching the red creep up from her neck and the way she was shaking slightly at the laugh that Stacie was letting out. “You better talk to your lady, Chlo, because she had _something_ planned for you, and it wasn’t dinner and a movie.” 

“Beca?” Chloe asked, surprised. Beca hated her for the sweetness in her voice, because she was just about ready to crawl under the couch and didn’t really feel like having her girlfriend give her the old ‘I’m proud of you for trying’ speech when she was still wearing lingerie that Stacie was currently imagining her in. 

“I’m not…” Beca started, biting at her thumbnail, “I’m not, like, gonna _tell_ you about them with…her…here.” 

“I’ve already seen what you had in store for her,” Stacie argued, but Chloe shot her a glare. 

“You had something planned for me?” Chloe asked, her voice rising with pride in just the way Beca predicted. The hand on Beca’s back had moved up to her neck, tugging slightly on the bra-strap. 

“Nope,” Beca said, jumping up quickly. “Not anymore. No, no, and no. We’re sisters, but I’m not  _there_ yet.” She paused to let Stacie laugh, then continued. “So I’m going to go supervise Stacie washing that image of me out of her mind with soap, or…something….and then….and then I’m going to hide for a thousand years. Please direct your mail to my PO box.” 

“Aw, Becs, it’s not–” Chloe started, but Beca was already backing out of the room, running up the stairs. 

“PO box!” 


	167. The One With the Other Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the bellas (except beca who lied and said she was hanging with Jesse and couldn't be with them) decide to prank call beca. However, when they call her, another woman answers. They all freak out, especially Chloe. When she gets home, they all confront her. — sent by anonymous

If there was one thing the Barden Bellas were good at - other than synchopated booty shakes and rocking sequined tuxes - it was jumping to conclusions. To be fair, though, they always tried their best to weigh the situation at hand, and it wasn’t their fault that they had a collective overactive imagination that allowed for outrageous hypotheticals to seem  _just_  realistic enough. 

Besides, it wasn’t exactly a secret that Beca Mitchell didn’t have friends outside their clique of acapella nerds. So, when they decided to call Beca demanding where her refrigerator was running to (because Amy claimed that that joke hadn’t hit Tasmania yet, and wanted to test out it’s quality on a “layperson…or  _laid_ person, am I right, Chloe?”) and heard the sound of a female voice that was  _definitively_ none of theirs, the first thing that they did was tally up the women in the room. 

The second thing they did, once they realized that every Bella except for Beca had been accounted for, was…well…freak out. 

“Who the aca-fuck was that?” Stacie said as Chloe was rushing to push “End call” on the phone. 

“She sounded hot,” CR commented, earning a glare from Chloe that the redhead didn’t stop quick enough. 

“She sounded…very much like Not Beca,” Chloe said. 

“Very much like not Beca indeed,” Amy added, her voice rising higher and higher as she stroked her chin. “Almost like…it wasn’t Beca at all.” 

“Guys,” Emily said, taking a breath and standing up. “I’m sure it’s no one. Beca’s, like, probably just hanging out with a friend or something.” 

“Pssh,” Amy snorted, looking around at the room full of girls that were chuckling under their breath, “They don’t call her loner girl for nothing, aca-child.” 

“They don’t call her loner girl at all,” Jessica commented. Amy looked at her confused, shrugging, before turning away. 

“Maybe she’s got some chick on the side to work out those…yunno, lady frustrations,” Stacie said. 

“Beca? Please. That girl can’t even sit next to anyone on the bus…I highly doubt she’s got that much of a…need,” Ashley said. Jessica nodded sagely, and Emily bit her lip. 

“I dunno, I feel like she’s got a wild side,” Stacie said, “I mean, we’ve all seen her when Chloe’s going over choreography.” 

“Okay,” Chloe clapped quickly, a blush rising up her neck. She’d been clutching the phone tightly, to the point where her knuckles had turned white, and there was the strong taste of blood in her mouth from biting the inside of her cheek. The other girls, though, hadn’t noticed, too preoccupied with the mystery of the other girl’s overly cheerily “Hello? Who is this?” 

“It’s, like….It’s…just…. _so_ not a big deal, guys,” Chloe said, shaking her head and smiling unconvincingly, “Beca was with a girl, so what? That’s just…It’s not a big deal.” 

“You’re so convincing, Ginger,” Amy said sarcastically under her breath, but Chloe was currently pacing around the room. 

“No, it’s totes not a big deal,” Chloe continued, “Because she’s probably studying with someone or hanging out with someone and that’s why it’s not a big deal. Not a big deal. There’s no big deal here; none at all.” 

“Okay, Chlo,” Stacie sang, standing up and putting a hand on Chloe’s shoulder. “You repeating it doesn’t make us feel any better about the whole aca-mom-affair that’s happening here.” 

“We’re not…that’s not…” Chloe fought, but the girls were looking up at her biting their lips to hold down their smiles. “She’s with Jesse.” 

“She’s with  _someone,_ and it ain’t Jesse,” CR mumbled, earning yet another glare from Chloe. She held her hands up innocently, shaking her head. 

“Not a big deal,” Chloe repeated, her eyes closed tightly. At that, the garage door opened, and all the girls’ eyes shot up to watch the front door. There was a total of five minutes of silence during which the girls watched from the window as Beca got out of her car, retrieved her bag from the backseat, checked her phone, and walked up to the house. By the time she walked in, she had an unnerving amount of eyes aimed at her - which, living in the Bella house for as long as she had been - wasn’t entirely unusual. That didn’t help to ease her nerves, though. 

“Hiiii?” she said questioningly, squinting as her eyes scanned over the girls who were standing uncomfortably in the doorway. Chloe was at the forefront of all of them, arms crossed despite the fact that she was biting at her thumbnail. “Can I help you?” 

“You tell us,” Amy said, pulling sunglasses (when had she put those on) off of her face like a TV detective. Chloe pushed her back lightly, stopping the scene from becoming something out of Crime Scene Investigation. 

“Where’re you coming back from, Beca?” Chloe asked in the sweetest voice she could muster. Beca recognized the corn-syrup-tone of her voice and cringed, knowing she was in trouble for something. 

“Uhh,” she started, “Jesse’s?” 

“Lies!” Amy spat out, throwing an accusatory finger at Beca before CR could stamp it down. Chloe shot a glance behind her and then stepped forward predatorily. 

“Beca,” she said slowly, her smile sickenly sweet. Beca, who before had a face masked with confusion, now looked scared. In her defense, though, the way Chloe was approaching her - like some horror movie carnival demon - would’ve made anyone fearful. 

“W-why does it matter where I was?” Beca stuttered, starting to bounce on the balls of her feet like she tended to do when she was nervous. 

“It doesn’t,” Chloe said easily, shrugging, though the heaviness was still in the air. “Only, one would think you could trust us to tell us where you’re going. Because if something were to happen, and we didn’t know where you were, well then….certain situations could get….even worse for you.” 

“Sheesh,” CR muttered from behind Chloe, hushed over the crowd of entertained eyes. Beca gulped, looking Chloe up and down. 

“You’re completely insane,” she said quietly, fighting the urge to close her eyes and flinch at whatever response Chloe might have had. Instead, she stuck her chin in the air confidently. Chloe smirked, the grin too polite. 

“Tell me who you were with, Beca,” she said, and Beca sighed. It was then that she decided to close her eyes, letting the breath fall out of her like a deflated balloon. 

“Fine,” she said, scratching her head and looking down at the floor, “WasWith’BryPosen.” 

“What was that?” 

“I was…” Beca looked up, her foot tapping nervously on the floor. “I was with Aubrey. Aubrey…Posen.” 

“We know who Aubrey is, Dingo,” Amy said, but Beca scowled at her. 

“Why were you–”

“Because,” Beca interrupted Chloe, who was currently going through every stage of relief at once and tamping down the butterflies that had been released from where their were fluttering in her stomach, “We were planning…this…um…this retreat. At the Lodge of Fallen Sneezes, or something like that. So…” she took another deep breath, checking to see if Chloe was surviving whatever she had to go through earlier, before pushing through the crowd of girls, “Next time you jump to conclusions, make it more interesting than just me having an affair with a chick, okay?” 

“We weren’t jumping to conclusions!” Chloe shouted at Beca as she walked up the stairs, shaking her head and grinning at the comment. 


	168. The One with the Rollercoaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you do one where Beca and Chloe were on the same ride (they don't know each other) and when Chloe gets off to see the automated pictures she finds Beca's first and can't stop laughing and Beca gets all "I'm a bad ass you can't laugh at me" — sent by anonymous

“It’s cute,” Chloe said, giggling, behind the girl who sat next to her on the rollercoaster ride. She wasn’t entirely sure why Stacie and Aubrey wanted to go to an amusement park when they were afraid of rollercoasters, but she was grateful when she followed this girl into the cart - because despite the ear piercings and thick eyeliner, the girl looked just about nervous enough to puke, and if there was one thing that calmed  _Chloe’s_ nerves, it was the chance to calm someone else’s. 

She liked to think that after undergoing a near-death experience with someone, you are inherently bonded to them in a way that allows you to avoid small-talk and the discomfort of early relationships. When she told the girl - Beca, apparently - about that, she just snorted and said, “Strapped into a man-made thrill machine  _not actually built_ to  _not kill_ people doesn’t really fall under the ‘near-death’ qualification of that”, but what Beca’s opinion was was neither here nor there. Because Chloe already knew that what Beca said and what Beca thought were two separate entities. And the photo displayed in the kiosk behind the ride’s exit was enough evidence to support that. 

“It’s  _not_ cute,” Beca mumbled, shaking her head and correcting herself, “ _I’m_ not cute.” 

“Hmm, I beg to differ,” Chloe said, her breath tickling over Beca’s ear and making her shiver out of the way. She pointed at the photo. “I like a lady who screams.” 

“Gross,” Beca muttered, though there was a blush rising up her neck. “Also I’m not screaming. I’m just, like, stretching. My…facial…muscles…”

“Smooth,” Chloe nodded, grinning. “You were totally scared out of your mind.” 

“You…” Beca started, her finger flying up to point in Chloe’s face before she took a deep breath and scowled, “You totally don’t know that.” 

“I could  _feel_ your heartbeat rattling the whole ride,” Chloe argued, her smirk never faltering. 

“Maybe that’s just how my heart reacts to sitting next to a pretty girl,” Beca said, pursing her lips in victory before she realized what she said. She watched Chloe’s face break into an all out grin, and then she smacked her forehead, grimacing. “That’s not…That’s not, like…I didn’t mean that.” 

“Didn’t mean what?” Chloe said, humming, “That you don’t think I’m pretty?”

“No!” Beca said quickly, “No, I do, but…Shit, no, it’s like…”

“Beca,” Chloe said, laughing, “Chill. Yeesh. You should see your face. It’s almost like you’re about to go on that rollercoaster again.” 

“Shut up,” Beca grumbled, rolling her eyes. They looked up at the photograph again - in it, Beca’s hair was standing up on end, but Chloe’s face was broken into a half-smile half-shout with a look of pure glee written over it. 

“I’m buying it,” Chloe said quickly, stepping forward to the counter. 

“What?’ Beca said, jumping to catch up to her, “No! That shit isn’t worth money! Why the fuck would you–”

“Because,” Chloe said, turning slowly to look at Beca while she held her credit card out to the worker, “When our grandkids ask us how we first met, I don’t want you acting like you  _weren’t_ about to shit your pants.” 

“I totally wasn’t–”

“Beca,” Chloe said, putting her hands on Beca’s shoulders to stop her from talking. “Kiss me before they print out that goddamn picture, and you shitting your pants won’t be the important part of the story.” 

“Romantic,” Beca grumbled, but she was smiling as big back at Chloe. “I’m not so sure about the grandkids though…I haven’t even proposed.”

“Hmmm,” Chloe said, stepping forward and leaning closer to Beca, “I’ll settle for a first date.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 


	169. The One With the Pranks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you think you could a prompt wherein Amy gets the Bellas to do the most elaborate prank on beca and she comes home from class, walks into the house her stuffs gone, lily now rooms with Amy and everyone's acting as though she's not there at all? — sent by anonymous

“Chloe, what the hell?” 

None of the Bellas question Beca’s choice of counsel, immediately assuming that once she noticed her stuff removed from her room she’d run to Chloe’s spot on the couch. Still, it was humorous, the way she took five seconds to jump from the stairs to the living room, seeming only to  _breathe_ outside her bedroom door before knowing that something was wrong. 

That was Beca, though. A lover of routine, surviving only on the promise that she could be back in the safety of her room again soon. When that was put into jeopardy, you better bet that there would be hell to pay. 

A few Bellas watched out of the corners of their eyes at Chloe to see if she could resist the urge to look at Beca and address her directly. She pursed her lips, squinted slightly at the TV screen, and took a sip from her cup - an act which, had the Bellas not been participating in this elaborate scene, would result in an all-around applause. 

“Chloe,” Beca said, waving a hand in front of Chloe’s face. “Hellooooo?” 

The other girl didn’t even move her head to keep her eyes on the screen, looking directly into the palm of Beca’s hand without flinching. The wave turned into a middle finger, aimed directly at Chloe, before Beca turned towards the other girls in the room. 

“Ha ha,” she said, “Very funny, guys.” 

But no one responded. Emily had a particularly hard time avoiding Beca’s glare, her eyes flitting nervously around the room without stopping on her for even a second. CR, too, struggled, always the one to break her act with a tiny chuckle. She bit her lips, though, holding it in while forcing her hands into fists. Stacie helped with that, positioned next to CR because of her master poker face. She put a hand on CR’s knee, reminding her to calm down. 

“Emily,” Beca said, finding her point of weakness and walking towards her predatorily. “Do you know where my stuff is?” 

Emily squeaked, her eyes landing for half a second on Beca before she panicked and let her thumbnail rise up to her mouth. She fought the urge to shake her head. 

Beca watched her, stepping closer every second until her face was directly in front of Emily’s. Her glare was ice cold, nostrils flaring, and Emily tried her best to avoid it by coughing lightly. 

Recognizing the dangerous proximity, Amy cleared her throat. “Hey, Ginger,” she said from the loveseat, “Change the channel, will ya? Man buns aren’t really my thing.” 

Chloe looked at Amy, nodding and changing the channel while Beca backed away from Emily, eying the two members of the interaction. 

“Oh,” she said, “So you  _do_ have ears.” 

To which, of course, there was no response. Beca let out a groan of frustration, looking up at the ceiling. “Okay, this isn’t funny,” she said shortly, huffing out a breath, “I’ve got a show in an hour and I  _need_ my backup laptop, so if you’re not going to tell me where my shit is, I’m going to force it out of y’all.” 

Stacie grinned, leaning to whisper into CR’s ear. “Bet some people here wouldn’t mind that.” 

Beca’s eyes flashed to her, but by the time she was at Stacie’s side, the whispering had ended, and although CR was covering up her laughter with coughs, Stacie had already returned to her perfect poker face. Quickly, Beca turned, facing Chloe again. 

“Fine,” she said, standing over the redhead, “If you’re pretending I’m not here, I’ll pretend like you’re not.” With that, she plopped down on the redhead’s lap, sharply throwing her entire body onto the other girl. Chloe grunted at the impact, but managed to shift just slightly under Beca’s next to nothing weight. The smaller girl flipped, resting her legs on the side of the chair and stretching out as much as possible. “Ah,” she breathed, “Comfy, comfy, comfy.” 

She punctuated each word with a sharp jab to Chloe’s stomach, earning grunts each time. It didn’t work, though, as Chloe just continued sitting, watching television. The show, really, wasn’t too bad, and Beca - ever the headstrong woman - sat there with her arms crossed and making a point not to get up. It took until the end of the half hour for Amy to stand up. 

“I’m gonna go feed the monster,” she said, patting her stomach. Emily nodded, standing up too. 

“Are you kidding me?” Beca squealed, “ _I still don’t have my stuff.”_

 _“_ Chloe, you look comfortable,” Stacie said casually, “Do you want me to get you anything so you don’t have to get up?” 

“Aw that’s sweet,” Chloe said, her breath hot on Beca’s back, “But I’m good for now, thanks.” 

The girls left the room one by one, and Beca turned around quickly. “What the fuck is this,” she whispered quietly to Chloe, who finally responded with a sly smile. 

“Prank war,” she said with a wink, eyes flashing back to the screen like she hadn’t said anything at all. 

“Chloeeeee,” Beca whined, shifting around, “I can’t feel my legs. Just say uncle and give up.” 

“That’s funny,” Chloe said, smiling, “Because thanks to your…err…proximity, I feel everything. But,” she shrugged, “That’s no matter, because I’m not giving in.” 

“You’re the devil,” Beca snapped, and Chloe tutted. 

“All it takes is one word,” Chloe said, her eyes still on the screen. “And I’ll call the girls off. Just. One. Word.” 

Beca crossed her arms, determined until the smells of pasta started to pass through the living room from the kitchen - accompanied by the banging of plates and the sizzling of something on the stove. Chloe’s stomach grumbled. She shifted forward, dancing fingers over Beca’s neck. 

“Just,” she repeated, “One. Word.” 

“Chloe!” Stacie said, coming into the room, “Were you fraternizing with the enemy?”

“What?” Chloe said, “N-n-no! I was…I was just…”

“Playing dirty,” Beca said, wiggling into Chloe’s lap. “She does that sometimes.” 

Stacie eyed them, then rolled her eyes. “Whatever,” she said, “Beca, you’re off the hook. Turns out, Ashley and Jessica put food coloring into the plumbing pipes. We’ve got a new target.” 

“Lucky you,” Amy called from the kitchen. 

“More like lucky us,” CR mumbled, “Knowing Beca, we’d have been playing that game for weeks.” 

“That’s right,” Beca said, jumping up from Chloe. “I’ve got a will of steel.” 

“Okay, Shortstack,” Chloe said, rubbing the feeling back into her legs. “I was breaking you, and you know it.” 

“I shall never admit defeat,” Beca answered, her chin high in the air. Chloe crept up behind her, pinching the space between her shoulder and her neck while whispering, “Bull. Shit.” 

Beca screamed, squirming out of the grasp and grabbing onto Chloe’s finger, her eyebrows furrowed in frustration. 

“You’re a pain in my ass,” she said, and Chloe grinned. 

“I know.” 


	170. The One With Potato Pants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you should totes do a prompt where AU stacie dares Beca to steal as many potatoes as she can to prove her "badassness" and Chloe works in the store and watches beca put them in her pants and she should tell someone but Beca is up to like 30 potatoes and Chloe wants to see how many more she can go to — sent by anonymous

Beca wasn’t one to back down from a dare. Or to back down from anything, really. It was one of Stacie’s favorite things about her best friend - not because determination and loyalty make great qualities in friends…no. Because it meant that she could convince that stone-cold, straight-faced girl to do ridiculous shit, take pictures, and mock her later for it. 

Of course, the mocking was less fun when Beca looked at the pictures proudly, declaring, “Well, I  _did_ do what you said I couldn’t do, so….”, but Stacie never really kept that part of the whole process in mind when she was in the brainstorming section of her dares. 

So, in the grocery store across the street from campus, when Stacie spotted the piles of potatoes, her mind started to kick into high gear. Which, admittedly, was the first time she’d ever been inspired by the sight of potatoes. 

“Hey, Becs,” she said, rolling the cart down the milk aisle. “You know what would be like crazy badass?” 

Beca sighed, looking up at Stacie with full knowledge that a dare was about to come. She stealed herself away for what Stacie would say next. “What, Stace?” 

“If you stole, like, a  _shit ton_ of potatoes.” 

“Why the hell,” Beca started, halting in their walk to look at Stacie. “That’s not even….potatoes?” 

Stacie shrugged, continuing down the aisle. “I dunno,” she said, “I just thought, you know, they’re heavy. It’d be pretty hard for you to get away with.” 

“Stacie, you’re the weirdest person I know.” 

Stacie hummed, staring down at her nails. “Guess that means you’re too scared.” 

“What?” Beca said, stunned. She rushed to catch up to Stacie, shaking her hands. “No. No, not scared at all. I just thought it was a weird suggestion. But…give me…like ten minutes. Pull the car up to the exit.” 

Stacie smiled, nodding slowly before abandoning the cart for the parking lot. That was when Beca looked in both directions, creeping forward towards the middle of the store where the vegetables were kept. 

It wasn’t a supermarket by any means. Just a local grocer, with a few aisles of granola (or, at least, it seemed like all they sold was granola), produce, and a deli. Chloe, working on the tail-end of her second shift that weekend, had noticed the two girls walking in immediately. Granted, she was sweeping up the entrance, but she liked to think she would’ve noticed them regardless. Mostly because two girls that beautiful in proximity to each other should really be illegal. 

So, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t discretely watching them walk through the store. Because her eyes were so focused she had already picked up that the tall one was clearly a dancer of some sort, and the small one had an iPod stored away in her back pocket. So when the tall one walked out quickly, a look of mischief on her face, she made sure to keep an extra close eye on the shorter girl. Without her girlfriend - or friend, or very well-endowed sister-in-law…. -  around, Chloe might have had more of a chance at…asking the girl if she needed assistance. 

Only, on her semi-stalker path behind Beca, she stopped short. Because the girl was walking up to the produce section with shoulders hunched suspiciously. She picked up a potato, looking both ways before quickly stuffing it in the waist band of her pants. 

Chloe had to physically stop herself from squeaking out loud via a hand on her lips, because the action was so unexpected from the girl donning a ratty button-down and pounds of eyeliner around her eyes. And when Beca put another away, she had to bite down on the hand that was over her mouth. It was, really and truly, ridiculous to watch a girl only slightly taller than five feet go through the process of sticking several potatoes into her skinny jeans. 

Sure, Chloe’s  _one_ job was to make sure no one shoplifted. And, sure, this wasn’t the most hygienic of things to watch at a food store, but Beca made it to five potatoes  _very_ easily, and Chloe couldn’t help but see how much farther she’d gotten. 

It took her until number ten for the food display she’d been leaning on to spy tumbled underneath her, causing Beca to spin around quickly, eyes bugged with shock. With her pants full of potatoes, she rushed (to the best of her ability) to Chloe and tried to help her up. Chloe shrugged it off, standing on her own. 

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, wiping off her smock, “Just a faulty display, is all.” 

“Yeah,” Beca said, nodding. She was watching Chloe, following some line of thought around the pupil of Chloe’s eyes, but the redhead just looked down quickly, smirking and glancing up for politeness. Beca followed her gaze, noticing the numerous bulges in her pants and jumping up. One potato fell out as a result. 

“Sorry,” she said quickly, “I was just…checking…the…temperature?” 

“Checking the temperature,” Chloe answered, nodding. Had she not been wearing a smile, Beca would’ve been worried. 

“Yeah,” she said, then huffing, “No. That was dumb. I’m normally better than that.” 

“I doubt it,” Chloe answered, picking up the potato that had fallen. 

“No, I do,” Beca argued, “You just, like, threw me off my game.”

 “Threw you off your game?” 

“Yeah,” Beca said, chucking self-loathingly, “Not really used to pretty ladies.” 

“Or grocery store etiquette,” Chloe answered, pointing to her pants, “You do know we have recyclable bags?” 

Grimacing, Beca met Chloe’s eyes. “I’m an idiot,” she said. 

“Yeah,” Chloe agreed, “An idiot who’s going to take those potatoes out of her pants.” 

If she’d heard that sentence at any other time in her life, it would have been hilarious. This redhead, though, had a kind of effect on her. 

“Fine,” Beca said, “But on one condition.” 

Crossing her arms, Chloe raised an eyebrow in intrigue. 

“You have to go with me,” she said, holding a potato out to Chloe, “For God’s sake, you’ve already seen my potatoes.” 

Chloe laughed, taking the potato. “Okay,” she said, walking closer to Beca, “Ask in five minutes. I don’t take people out who ask me when their pants [are full of the apple of the earth.](http://cheeky-geek-m0nkey.tumblr.com/ask)


	171. The One With Aubrey's Proposal Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca is planning to propose to Chloe but needs help from Aubrey. When Beca finally proposes Chloe is surprised when she finds out that Aubrey helped — sent by anonymous

Beca didn’t hate Aubrey - not even a little bit. She just functioned on a fundamentally different plane than Aubrey did, and it made for a certain amount of incompatibility in the teamwork department - as well as a slew of temple-pounding headaches. 

Despite the riff, though, Beca found out early on that they worked well together if there was a common goal in mind and a hell of a lot of room for compromise. In fact, a little too late in their companionship, Beca realized that they’re shared levels of intensity for the things they cared about brought about some amazing results. So she really lucked out that the one thing that Aubrey Posen cared about even more than the Bellas was Chloe Beale. Because it just so happened that Beca felt the exact same way. 

So when she went to ask Aubrey for permission to propose to Chloe - late one afternoon, without really thinking about where she was driving to or what she was about to do, she’d ended up on Aubrey’s doorstep and knew without a doubt that she was ready to marry this woman’s best friend - she stuttered and she fiddled with her hands, rolling her eyes when Aubrey forced her to “just spit it out”. But they ended up staying up until three in the morning, with Beca sending a quick text to Chloe to say, “Don’t wait up, I’m working on something and will be back by the morning”, working copiously on the best way to go about popping the question. Beca actually ended up sleeping on Aubrey’s couch, waking up to a smiling blonde without makeup on standing in the kitchenette with a cup of tea in her hand. 

“No coffee,” she said when Beca looked at her groggily, “It’s bad for the vocal chords.” 

“That’s bullshit,” Beca grumbled, taking the mug of tea, “And I’m not at Barden anymore, I don’t need to protect those bad boys.” 

Aubrey tsked, taking her hair out of the messy bun. It was strange, really, seeing Aubrey without the perfection that lined her intricately curled hair and applied makeup - like seeing a stick figure be blurred and rounded out. Beca found herself seeing what Chloe always talked about when it came to Aubrey - that kind of maternal softness that was, apparently, hidden beneath the surface. 

“Yeah, but my godkids are going to need to be sung to sleep,” she said, “And Chloe doesn’t have the range for every song in the songbook, Beca.” 

She rushed out of the apartment not long after that, wiping at the smudged eyeliner and spending her entire carride trying to come up with a proper excuse for why she didn’t come home that night. They had set a coffee date for three days from then, to go over the whole plan and settle any remaining uncertainties. Beca found herself, oddly enough, calmed by Aubrey’s involvement in the entire plan. While she imagined a demand for sky-writing and hastily written poetry, it turned out that Aubrey had understood Beca enough to craft a vision fitting for the Mitchell brand of romanticism. And a week later (it may have taken Beca a while to realize she wasn’t afraid of commitment, but the minute she was ready to marry Chloe, she was  _ready_ to marry Chloe), she popped by Aubrey’s house for a quick pep-talk before driving to the grocery store. 

“This is a good plan, right?” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Aubrey put two hands on her shoulders, stilling her enough to look her in the eyes. 

“It’s a great plan,” she said, “And very Chloe.” 

Beca sighed, trying to breathe in Aubrey’s calmness. The blonde had been through enough anxiety attacks in her life to know how to stop one, so she stood there, regulating Beca’s uneven breaths with a gaze that held nothing but serenity. “It’s also very you,” she said, “Which is what I think matters more to her.” 

“Yeah,” Beca said quietly. She nodded, more to herself that to the blonde. “Yeah.” 

“So,” Aubrey said, backing up. “Go get the girl.” She bent down, slapping Beca on the ass and making the smaller girl jump, glaring at her. 

“You need to stop hanging out with Jesse,” she grumbled, hand on the doorknob. 

“Shut it, Mitchell,” Aubrey said, “And go get engaged to my best friend, please.” 

Beca texted Chloe earlier in the evening, asking her if she wanted to go grocery shopping for a fourth meal - maybe pick up some noodles and pasta sauce, because Italian always tasted better on the floor of the living room at three in the morning. There was a 24 hour market across the street, and when Beca pulled into the driveway, Chloe was waiting to walk over with her, hand in hand. 

“You seem off,” Chloe said, squeezing Beca’s hand to her chest. Beca leaned into her, resting her head on her shoulder as they passed through the parking lot. 

“Not off,” Beca answered, “Actually, really really on.” 

“Oh,” Chloe said, pursing her lips and eying her girlfriend. “Should I even ask?” 

Beca shrugged, pushing open the door. “I just feel really good, Chlo,” she said, stopping before they even passed the sensors and pulling the redhead back to stand next to her. She stood on her tiptoes, kissing Chloe once before letting her go. 

“Whatever you’re on,” Chloe said with a grin, “I want some of.” 

“I can arrange that,” Beca said, walking down the frozen aisle with a hand running over the glass cases. 

It took them until they got to the crackers and granola section for Beca to reach into her back pocket. Chloe was reaching up to check the price of a box of breadcrumbs, and Beca was already crouched to look for pickles. When Chloe turned around, her squat had shifted so that she was positioned on one knee. 

“Beca….” Chloe said, tilting her head. 

“Chloe…” Beca answered, teasingly imitating Chloe’s voice. She took a deep breath, then, and Chloe watched, letting the girl take her time to find the right words. “So, this is a grocery store.” 

“No duh, Becs.” 

“Can you just….like, no interruptions here, please.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Anyway, this is a grocery store. Probably not the most romantic place to do this but…um…well I think that the thing about you is that you take these little things and you make them special. Like Sunday morning laundry, and spring cleaning, and…me. Mostly me. So I thought that it was only appropriate that I do this here. Just because…well…I think that we’ve got a special power that way. I mean…to turn something from ordinary to extraordinary. I think if anyone can make a trip to the grocery store a life-changing time, it’s us. Or you. Mostly you. I dunno what I’m trying to say, this isn’t going entirely as planned but…” 

“You’re doing great,” Chloe whispered, which made Beca stop for a second to smile to herself. 

“I’m resisting the urge to make food puns, I hope you know,” she said, breaking from the script for a second. 

“I know,” Chloe said, “I’m grateful.” 

“Anyway,” Beca said, looking down at the hand holding the ring. “What I’m asking you is…um…will you…well will you make every day extraordinary with me? Because if you will…If you would, I mean…I’d be honored to…um…make every bad thing in your life…every boring thing…every small thing…into something great. If you’d let me.” 

“Beca,” Chloe breathed. She moved to make the girl stand, but somehow, she ended up crouched on the floor next to her, holding her hands. “Beca,” she said again, pressing her forehead to Beca’s and letting her eyes fall shut. She felt Beca do the same. 

“Chloe,” Beca said. They sat there like that for more than a few moments before Beca pulled back, nudging Chloe’s nose in the process. “I need an answer.” 

Chloe laughed, falling to the floor and pulling Beca along with her. “Yes, you goof,” she said, leaning against the aisle. “Duh.” 

“I hate you,” Beca said between smiles, “You don’t even know how nervous I was.” 

“You shouldn’t have been,” Chloe said, reaching for Beca’s hand. “You did great. I don’t even…how…You were…” 

“Aubrey helped,” she admitted, under her breath. Chloe gasped, pulling away from her with the widest smile on her face. 

“What?!” 

“Yeah,” Beca said, shrugging. “It’s like…not…a big deal.” 

“Um excuse you,” Chloe said. She was playing with the box of crackers she was leaning against. “I don’t even know who I’m marrying anymore.” 

 


	172. The One with Beca's Tattoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe wants to know the story of Beca's tattoos — sent by anonymous

She’s slow to tell Chloe. Not because she doesn’t trust her, but because she’s not one to offer information until someone asks. So when Chloe traces the lines in the safety of the darkness of her room, Beca shifts, looking at her. 

“What’s this one,” Chloe whispers, and Beca finds herself giving an answer. Because she’s warm here, but she’s also shivering, and there’s something to that. Something that makes her feel like sharing, for once. She looks down at the headphones on her wrist, shrugging. 

“It’s for when I can’t drown the world out,” she says, “You know…music does that for me. Makes the world disappear. But there are so many times when headphones don’t work. So I have this. For those moments when I want to feel alone and safe in a tumbling world. Like nothing can touch me, and no one can see me, and I’m in this shell of my own beat.” 

Chloe hums, her fingers lingering over the lines before she twisted them up, dotting over the shoulder. It’s there that she presses a light kiss to the petals. “And these…?” 

“Those,” she says with a sigh, “Are for every person I’ve let myself cut away from. I was going to get someone’s name there. Someone who…meant a lot to me, and then, suddenly, didn’t. It was then that I realized that there’s a value to getting a tattoo with no meaning at all. Something that’s just beautiful, painted onto something that’s just beautiful, because permanence isn’t even really permanent, you know?” 

“Yeah,” Chloe breathes, “Yeah.” She skits down to the small of Beca’s back, then back up to her ribcage, where there was a script drawn out in ink. 

“That,” Beca whispers, breathing uneasily as Chloe’s fingers tickle her, “Is Titanium.” 

Chloe’s fingers stop, pressing down into the word. Beca leans back into it. “Before it was your lady jam, obviously,” Beca says with a light chuckle. “Just a little…Just a push. Because the only thing that’s going to kill me is not living. Other than that,” she says, “I’m untouchable. Bulletproof.” 

Chloe shifts, bending down enough to press a light kiss to it. “You’re beautiful,” she says, and it sounds almost like a song, though Beca can’t for the life of her find anything to mix it with. “So beautiful.” 

She turns around, facing Chloe and pressing their lips together. “So are you,” she says, then presses her lips to Chloe’s collar bone. “Now,” she says with a grin, “Your turn.” 


	173. The One Where Jeca is Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Do you think you could do one wherein beca and Jesse don't split, they have a kid and that kid goes to school where the teacher is a charming miss Beale that they all once knew and that's when beca remembers how she made her feel at college etc etc? — sent by anonymous

It was always about timing with them. 

They were like two clocks slightly out of sync, ticking in tune but one slightly ahead of another. Just enough to be discordant but not enough to cause anyone to notice. 

 The thing about timing, then, is that it’s supposed to heal all wounds. Or, at the very least, it’s supposed to bury it all away. That’s how fossils worked, right? You just stuck them in the ground, and let time take care of the rest. 

Beca had decided, before she even realized it, really, that she was going to do just that. She was going to turn all that Chloe Beale was into a fossil - something frozen in the past, gray and dusty and remaining there until someone milleniums from now uncovered her. 

Which was why when Jesse got down on one knee, and there was a flash of the memory of the one time Chloe did that, drunk off cheap wine with a paperclip in her hand, Beca said yes on instinct. And when it came to sending the invitations, she went through the pile in the backseat of her car, flipping a specific name under the seat, to be found later with a “what can you do?” kind of attitude. 

She found that it got easier, actually. That that whole time theory wasn’t entirely unapplicable. Because by the time she held her son in her arms, there was only a small, unnoticeable pang at his decidedly  _not_ red hair, and when, twelve years later, he started junior high, there was only the distant memory of Chloe’s ridiculous grade school photo. In Beca’s defense, that picture was unforgettable, and every Bella thought so.

What they don’t tell you about fossils, though, is that sometimes they’re not rocks and bones, immortalized in layers of sediment but decaying every day. Sometimes, they’re frozen in amber, preserved exactly like they day they got stuck there, with every ounce of vibrancy still intact. So when she picked her son up from his first day at a new school, asking him how his day was, how the people in his class were, and who his teachers were, she thought she was pressing on the brake when she was really hitting the gas. 

Because he smiled at her with the same sideways grin of her husband and said he had a new favorite teacher - the one who taught music. “She started with us singing something from the Black Eyed Peas?” he said, “Which is a dumb name for a band, but she says it was a party classic.” 

“Oh really?” Beca grinned, looking at him. 

“Yeah,” he said, “And she said that I have a voice. Or, actually, she said, ‘So you  _can_ sing!’ which was kinda awkward because everyone was looking at me and stuff but then she winked and -” 

“Sounds like the lil mister has a crush,” Beca teased, which made him shake his head furiously. “Who’s this lady who wants to steal my favorite bro?” 

“It’s not a crush,” he said very seriously, which made Beca smile more. “Her name is Miss Beale. She’s awesome. And she can really sing, you’ve gotta get her in the studio. She says she knows you, actually.” 

She forgot to pick up dinner from their celebratory Thai place that night, focusing solely on the roads and street signs that she could rely on to take her home. When her son asked how she was, she said she wasn’t really feeling well, which wasn’t untrue, because there was a sickness in her stomach that made all her food turn gray and a haziness to her eyes that made watching television impossible. When Jesse listened to what she had put together - the only thing she could manage was mixing - he frowned a little, considering it. 

“Bit of a throwback, eh?” he said, looking at her curiously. She shrugged, fiddling with the beats mindlessly. 

“Just missed the old tunes,” she said offhandedly, slamming the laptop shut. She was lost in that mix for the rest of the week, weaving in and out of the familiar melodies and finding herself hearing them later in her head in the voice of someone she once knew so well. When Jesse came home from work, he would put a hand on the small of her back, and Beca would feel it like she was back in the Bella house all those years ago, bright green painted nails skirting around her waist to tickle her into submission and demand a stolen chip or two. 

And when she saw her, two weeks later, standing in the parking lot just before school let out, it was like no time passed at all. Which, really, at this point time hadn’t even done what it was supposed to do, so Beca felt like it was more than a little irresponsible that time erased all of it’s own progress in addition. 

Then, she heard her, peeking into her brain, which had already turned soft at the sight of Chloe in a green dress that fanned out around her knees. She had been thinking about the cruelty of that dress, taking hold of every hormone in those pre-pubescent filled walls and shaking them around and around, and suddenly the voice was there too, matching up with the image so that Beca had to hold onto the steering wheel to keep herself sitting up right. 

“Beca,” she said, and it was enough. More than enough, really, because it was chirping and sickly sweet, coming out like a breath that Beca found herself falling into. She closed her eyes, feeling everything again at once. The glee, the lightness, the brightness, like she was living in technicolor. 

She thought, briefly, that it should have made her feel sad. Bad. Guilty, at least. But all she felt was grateful, in that spell-bounded second, to hear it all again. 

“Chloe,” she said, and it was like a prayer, said with her eyes still closed. Chloe leaned into the window of the car, resting her arms on the ledge, and Beca noticed the way peach fuzz circled around a freckle at her elbow. 

Like she was stuck in amber, Beca thought. Preserved down to every last detail. 

“I missed you so much.” 

School had been dismissed, and the kids were already heading out the front door, running to the parking lot. Somewhere, Beca could hear it all. But then, there, with Chloe’s breath back in her field of existence, she struggled to figure out who had said it at all. 

It occurred to her, maybe, that they’d both said it. The words matching up with one another at exactly the same time, so that their voices couldn’t be distinguished. 

“I missed you so, so much.” 


	174. The One Where Beca Comes Out to Herself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely! How about a mini fic along the lines of beca really struggling to accept that she likes girls, regardless of her feelings towards beca. Super angsty and mega feels please! — sent by anonymous

Somewhere in the distance of her past, Beca remembered sitting across from a nondescript therapist - one who wore a fuzzy scarf and had hair that frizzed out on the ends - and being asked how often she thought about certain things, from food to school to friends until the doctor finally got to her main source of interest: her parents. 

Still, Beca found herself quantifying her struggles on how often she thought about certain things, according to those percentages that she was taught how to use in that seedy office room with a therapeutic water fountain dripping in the background. So, when she sat down and allowed herself to think about what was happening to her - only when the walls were dark enough to hide her thoughts from anyone else - she realized just how much of her mind was spent preoccupied with the new concept that was put out before her. 

She realized how much of her day was spent focused on Chloe’s lips, or spent focused on  _not_ focusing on them, and how much of her day was spent thinking about the consequences of focusing on not focusing on them, and why she felt the need to focus on them in the first place. The thoughts went like that - around and around in circles until she noticed she was staring at every girl that walked through the campus courtyard, outlining every aspect of their features and hoping there wasn’t something printed across her forehead that revealed to the world what she had been doing. 

If she had to quantify it all, she would say she spent 90% of her thoughts, daily, on the possibility that she might like girls more than she realized. 

10% on watching girls  
20% on feeling guilty for watching girls  
Another 20% on worrying about how natural watching girls was   
A touch of 10% on remembering sudden moments of her past and realizing how much sense they would make now   
30% fearing that other people could see what she was thinking, judging her for it   
And 20% more hating how obvious it all felt 

90% of her thoughts, from the moment she woke up in the morning to when she chose to walk back from rehearsals alone, because even being around Chloe made it all go a little more haywire in her mind. 

She realized, then, that this was probably a problem. And while if anyone had gone up to her and told her that exact same thing, she would’ve shrugged, putting a hand on their shoulder and saying, “Hey, questioning is natural. Good for you. I respect who you are no matter what, and all that shit”, there was something inherently different about the person in question being _her._ Because now that it wasn’t at distance, the entire thing felt  _wrong._ Or, at the very least, not okay. And she knew that there were a series of social biases that fed into that, combined with an obsession of heteronormative media during her developmental years, because Stacie was  _way_ into the Psychology of Sexual Behavior right now (which, really, perfect timing, Stace) and wouldn’t stop bringing it up during dinner. Still, she couldn’t shake that guilt; it was okay for everyone else to be different, to fall somewhere on the spectrum, but for it to be her felt like…an entirely different game altogether. 

So when Chloe crawled into her bed one of the nights she opened up her mind to consider it all without guilt, her first instinct was to pull her covers up and around her, tightly so that there was no way the redhead could sneak in. 

“Beca?” Chloe said, confused as she tugged at the blankets. “Becs, I can’t sleep. Lemme in.” 

“No,” Beca said, and it came out harsher than she wanted it to. Only, she hadn’t realized she was crying until she had heard footsteps on the floorboard, so she was caught more than a little off guard. “I’m sorry,” she relented, softening slightly, “I’m sorry, I just…can’t.” 

“Beca, what does that mean?” 

“It means,” Beca started, making the mistake of turning to face Chloe and seeing the way that even now, even in the darkness, the girl’s eyes sparkled. She wanted to kiss her. She wanted to not want to kiss her, and she wanted to not want to not want to kiss her. More than all of that, though, she wanted her mind to turn off for a second, because she was worried it was going to explode. “I can’t…be around you right now, Chlo,” she finished, her voice a little weaker. 

And despite her words, Chloe sat down next to her, putting a careful hand on Beca’s shoulder and sighing with relief when the other girl didn’t shrug her off. “Are you okay?” 

She didn’t have any more words. Because 90% of thought meant that there were 0% words available to communicate, just pursed lips and a fervent shake of her head, tears falling harder under she crashed into Chloe’s lap, bent at the waist, to let out a sob. 

“I don’t know what to think,” she cried, sniffling, “I don’t…I can’t… _be_ like this, Chloe, and I’m scared. I’m so scared.” 

“I know,” Chloe said, reaching down to start to brush Beca’s hair with her fingers. She was still, sure, and there was something stabilizing in her touch, even now, when Beca’s butterflies were running over in her stomach. 

“I feel not okay,” Beca said, her cries softening until she could roll over to look up at Chloe. “But I also feel…really right.” 

“Beca,” Chloe said, stroking Beca’s cheek, “You should try to say it.” 

Beca looked at Chloe then, really looked at her, and noticed the way the moonlight outlined her cheekbones. There was a flutter in her chest that made her feel like she was about to fight a lion, and she thought, briefly, that maybe she was. Maybe this one second of softness was her lion, and maybe after she said the words, she would be able to stand up, victoriously, with the remains lying on her shoulders. So she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, reaching for Chloe’s hand and squeezing it. 

“I like girls,” she said, because it was the only way she knew how to word what she was thinking. “I like the way they walk, and I like the way they look, and I think if I was able to, I would want to kiss them. A lot. I don’t know what that means, Chloe.” 

Chloe sighed, taking Beca’s hand and moving it up to her mouth to kiss her knuckles before resting her cheek on them. “How did that feel?” Her voice was softer than Beca had ever heard it. 

“Good,” Beca breathed, her voice shaky. “Scary. Really fucking scary.” 

Chloe nodded, her thumb still running over Beca’s knuckles. “That’s okay. That’s totally okay,” she said, and Beca nodded in return. “You’re allowed to be afraid. You’re not allowed to stop yourself, okay?” 

“Be scared and do it anyway,” Beca said, repeating Chloe’s classic motto - the one that she said before performances and parties she was dragging Beca into. The redhead grinned, proud. 

“Be scared and do it anyway,” she said, nodding. “Because fear is bullshit when it comes to actually stopping us from figuring out what we want, Becs.” 

“Yeah,” Beca said, turning against so that she was holding onto Chloe’s t-shirt. She nuzzled her nose there, and Chloe curved her spine, giggling into it. She shifted down, and they were looking at each other nose to nose. 

“I’m really proud of you,” Chloe said, and Beca rolled her eyes. In response, Chloe slapped her shoulder. “I’m serious, nerd! It’s what everyone says, but I don’t care. You’re….that was…really good. And I’m really proud. And…thank you. For sharing.” 

Beca nodded, and it was impossibly small, shrinking her into the pillow. “I’d share anything with you,” she said quietly, but she was certain that Chloe didn’t hear her. “Thank you.” 

Chloe opened her eyes slowly, searching Beca’s blue ones for some semblance of something Beca couldn’t quite figure out. It was then that Beca realized she wasn’t thinking. Or, at the very least, wasn’t thinking about it. Everything was…quiet. 

“Sleep, Shortstack,” Chloe mumbled. The command was more than enough. 


	175. The Pick-Me-Up

Chloe Beale had a way of making Beca love living inside of all the movies that she hated. 

That was who she was: a compilation of all of the most corny, terrible movies Beca had ever been forced to watch, and overtime she started writing Beca’s life to fit in with hers - making her sing in the rain and dance in slow motion so that whatever camera existed around them had a slow pan up their forms. And Beca loved it. 

So when she slipped into the house after a seminar class wherein she spent two hours discussing the philosophical implications of the impossibility of reality, on one of those days where everything seemed steeped in gray and her hair was plastered to her head by the rain, she was still able to smile when she saw Chloe perched on the edge of the couch, standing on her tiptoes to touch the ceiling. 

The sound of the door opening, along with Beca’s telltale sound of keys being thrown over the coffee table, was enough to signal her entrance, and Chloe turned to look at her with wide eyes. Thunder clapped outside. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Beca sighed, wiping her wet hair out of her face but being incapable of smearing the smirk running over her face. Chloe continued standing in her position. 

“The floor,” Chloe said, a giggle bubbling up within her despite her attempt at being serious, “Is lava.” 

“Oh my god, Ch–” 

“Beca!” Emily shouted from the kitchen. She had cushions taped to her feet, Amy’s macaroni and cheese duct tape finally coming in handy. After a quick wave, she gasped and slid into the room to look at Chloe. “You’re just gonna let her burn in the lava?” 

“I warned her!” Chloe shouted, hands up in innocence. 

“Beca, quick! Get out of there!” Emily said, then immediately noticed who she was talking to and stepped back, “I mean, only if you want to.” 

Chloe watched the exchange, noting the look that had returned to Beca’s eye for a splash of a second when another thunder clapped in the distance, and bounced over to the other edge of the couch. She bent down, reaching her hand out, “I never pegged you for a damsel in distress.” 

“I’m standing on hardwood,” Beca grumbled, taking Chloe’s hand and hopping onto the couch next to her. “Distress isn’t what I’d call it.” 

“It’s lava,” Amy shouted from somewhere in the house - Beca swore she had a way of crawling through the walls, though if anyone knew about that it would be Lilly. 

“I wasn’t talking about the floor,” Chloe chirped, bouncing slightly on the cushions still as she held onto Beca’s hand. “You just kinda looked like you needed saving.” 

Surprised, although she shouldn’t have been because it was Chloe she was talking to, Beca looked away at the bluntness introduced into the conversation. “Yeah,” she sighed, scratching her forehead. “One of those days.” 

Chloe moved her hands from Beca’s to a place around the girl’s waist, pausing for a moment. “I can hug you?” 

Beca nodded once, breaking into the embrace when Chloe applied full force, squeezing Beca and letting their breathing match one another’s. Then, there was a thunder clap, accompanied by the sound of a nerf gun being enacted. “Shit,” Chloe said quickly into Beca’s ear, her body freezing, “Beca, duck!” 

Crouched into the couch cushions, the electricity went out around the time that Amy jumped out from the dining room to ransack Emily from the kitchen, almost matching up eerily to the sound of her high-pitched squeal. Beca looked at Chloe, who was giggling madly, her curls bouncing around her face, and despite all that she was, she started giggling too, the grin turning into something that was beyond her control and fueled by the hand that was still on her hip, tickling her slightly so that she fell into Chloe’s lap. “I can’t see shit,” Beca said, sitting slightly on top of Chloe, and she saw the redhead grin. 

“Good,” Chloe said, “If you can’t see your enemy, then your enemy can’t see you.” 

Beca laughed again, burying her face into Chloe’s collarbone for a second as someone started running across the hallway upstairs, accompanied by a few more hurried footsteps. 

“You’re all ridiculous,” Beca shouted out, earning a smack on the head from Chloe who quickly let out a sharp, “shhh”. The result was only Beca snickering at Chloe, taking the finger she had pressed to her lip and biting it sharply. Chloe let out a loud squeak, enough to draw the attention of CR, who had sneaked down the steps around the time Beca shouted out. Within seconds, they were both shot in the back of the head, and as Beca rubbed the point of contact, Chloe watched her. 

“What now?” she asked, only slightly exasperated. 

“We have to die,” Chloe said simply, taking Beca’s hand. “To the blanket fort of purgatory!” 

Which made Beca groan, because the reality of the fact that she was falling in love with a seven year old was just beginning to set in and she hated that there was no big part of her that minded. 


	176. The One with the Instruments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe discovers that Beca can play the guitar/piano. — sent by anonymous

She heard it in waves in the moments before rehearsals - songs pouring out of the piano behind closed doors and in empty spaces - and she wasn’t entirely sure why she knew right away who the player is. Maybe it was in the flow, and the fact that the notes sank into one another in the same way that Beca sang songs, or in the song choice, because it took two days of playing for Chloe to hear Titanium passing through the crack under the door. 

Either way, when she walked in, like clockwork, the music would suddenly stop, and she would hear the sharp sound of the stool against cement flooring, followed by Beca’s form almost racing across the space to meet her. She would smile uncomfortably, shooting out a quick, “Heyyyy, I thought I’d stop in early to get some mixing done,” she take Chloe’s backpack before the redhead had a chance to question anything. So she knew, to some extent, that it was something Beca didn’t care to share with the group. Which was a shame, Chloe thought, because Beca played the piano in a way that was both haunting and joyful - like the way she walked down the courtyard to class, or looked at Chloe between sets. It was beautiful, and it was Beca, and it took everything in Chloe’s power not to call her out on it the first few times she heard her. 

But days became weeks, and Chloe never tired of hearing new songs pour out from that room, so she started coming to rehearsals earlier and earlier - even skipping out of class a few times to get a full concert. Which was why, one Tuesday afternoon, when the music stopped suddenly - thirteen minutes too early - and the door opened without Chloe being awake enough to realize it, Beca squealed and jumped back. 

“Jesus Christ, Chlo,” she said, clutching her chest. “You scared me.” 

“Sorry,” Chloe said. She was scrambling to stand up. “Sorry, sorry, the song probably played me to sleep or something.” 

“What?” Beca asked quickly, taking a step back. “Wh–Di–How long have you been here?” 

Chloe fiddled with the strings on her bag, bouncing from one foot to another. “We don’t have the space reserved for this hour, Bec.” 

“You’re going to lecture me on room reservation right now, Chloe??” Beca asked incredulously, her voice rising. “You were spying on me!” 

“I was not! We both have an equal right to be here, which is to say we don’t have any right at all so just–”

“Fine!” Beca said, slamming into the door to go back into the room, “I’ll leave then.” 

“Fi–Wait,” Chloe started, stopping herself and turning her voice softer. The jolt of being woken up mixed with the surprise of being caught ended with her being defensive, shouting and saying things that didn’t even come from a genuine place. So she stepped back mentally, while stepping forward physically, reaching out towards Beca. “Sorry,” she said, “I don’t…I don’t know what we’re fighting about?”

“Right,” Beca said, sighing. She’d stopped her mad rush to get her things, and was pushing her hair back. “Right. That was…me…over-reacting. I just got freaked.” 

“I get it,” Chloe said. She bit her lip, debating whether she should say what she wanted to. “You…uh…you play really well.” 

Beca winced, scratching her forehead. “I’m decent,” she said. “I kept thinking there was someone listening.” 

“Guilty,” Chloe admitted, raising her hand weakly. “I didn’t wanna tell you cuz, well, you didn’t wanna tell me.” 

“Yeah, that’s on me,” Beca said, sitting down at one of the stadium seats. “Just embarrassed by it.” 

“What?!” Chloe gasped, sitting down next to her. “Are you kidding??” 

“I mean…”

“You’re an effin’ rockstar, Becs,” Chloe gushed, stopping when she saw Beca blush. She reached out to touch it, pushing a strand of hair back in the process. “You sound…out of this world.” 

“I can’t really play in front of people,” Beca said, shrugging off Chloe’s touch. “So there’s that.” 

Chloe was quiet for a second, then, she turned towards Beca completely. “Okay,” she said, “Well, we can work on that.” 

“I don’t–”

“Hush,” Chloe said quickly, “You are currently my new favorite musician of all time, so you don’t get a choice in my fangirling. Which is why I demand private concerts.” 

“I can’t…That’s not a thing I can…”

“Beca,” Chloe said, her voice taking on an air of seriousness. She looked at Beca through her eyelashes, her eyes impossibly wide as her lip protruded out, “ _Please_.” 

And really, how could Beca say no?


	177. The One Where Chloe Proposes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know me-- I'm undeniably a preggo!Bechloe sucker. But I'm also a proposal fic sucker (and apparently super heteronormative despite being hella gay?) How come Beca gets to have all the question popping anxiety? What does it look like when Chloe asks? Your brain is the best brain to ponder such deep and philosophical ideas. (And I also really love your writing and think you're ridiculously awesome and and and...) -PHE — sent by anonymous

Chloe wasn’t one to rein herself in. She found that with a twist of her lips and a sparkle in her eye, people wouldn’t be likely to oppose to whatever she had come up with, even if she leaned more towards the theatrical side of life most days. Beca, of course, was no exception to this rule, and Chloe took a special kind of pleasure from watching the girl slowly start to accept, expect, and even enjoy the vaudeville ideas Chloe indulged in. 

Only, this was different - it wasn’t a corny date, or a repetition of a scene from some movie Beca claimed to hate. They had discussed it before, over dinners and between the sheets, because Beca wasn’t one for marriage in the first place, and while she always said she’d “endure it” for Chloe’s sake, if Chloe wanted it, she was perfectly happy living a life without white dresses and wedding rings. While Chloe liked to push Beca, she recognized that this wasn’t something she really wanted the other girl to compromise - if she was going to get married, it was going to be with someone who  _wanted_ to give 100% of themselves to the commitment. Still, she could never shake the hope that something drastic would happen, and Beca would turn to her to ask for her hand. 

Which was why she couldn’t stop going over the events in her head, just to make sure her hopeful thinking wasn’t getting in the way of reality. Because Beca sat next to her, two nights ago, and whispered during a commercial break that she hoped they’d be better than the couple on TV when they got married. Then, a day later, she slipped in the front door and smiled, saying, “Man, my wife makes good food”. Over breakfast, she glanced up from her computer, spying Chloe. 

“What, do I have something on my face?” Chloe asked, hand flying up to her cheek. Beca shook her head. 

“Nah, uh,” she bit the inside of her cheek, “I don’t understand how pinterest works, Chlo.” 

“What?” Chloe spun around, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Yeah,” Beca said. She was scratching her head. “Someone at work is using it for wedding shit, and I thought I’d see what was on there. Get ideas for the big day or whatever. But…it’s just a bunch of DIY crap, which isn’t really my game, and ‘pinning’ doesn’t make any sense…” 

“You’re gonna have to schedule a meeting with Bree for that one, Becs,” Chloe said, turning back towards the coffee-maker so that she could hide the shock and confusion peeking from her face. “She’s a Pinterest wizard.” 

“Of course she is,” Beca grumbled, and that was that. On her drive to work, Chloe called Aubrey, reviewing the details in order to confirm her suspicions. 

“Jesse mentioned something about that,” Aubrey said offhandedly, and Chloe saw her positioned behind a desk, legs crossed, tapping a pen on the edge of it waiting for the phone call to end so she could treat herself to the five minute breathing exercises she performed before every meeting. 

“And you didn’t tell me because…?”

“Because it’s Beca,” Aubrey argued, “And I would assume that if Jesse knows something, you know too. She tells things to exactly two people, it’s not like it’s unpredictable.” 

Chloe finished the conversation by asking what, exactly, Jesse had said, which resulted in Aubrey emailing her a screenshot of some conversation between the two that included Beca asking Jesse whether he would make fun of her or not for suddenly change her previously ardent views on marriage. 

Of course that would be her concern. Of course. 

So it took a week to put something together, and while Chloe was very much in the habit of allowing herself to indulge in every aspect of the romantics and theatrics, a la every Taylor Swift song ever, she forced herself to step back. They had made it this far, and Chloe imagined, night after night, a situation wherein she scared Beca away. She felt as though she was standing, hand outstretched, to some kind of street kitten cautiously approaching her. Only, this particular kitten had taken almost eight years to even come up and sniff Chloe’s hand, so…the stakes were high. 

And she, as always, wanted every last aspect to be perfect. 

“It’s 4 am,” Beca grumbled, getting into the car with a slam of her door and immediately snuggling into the headrest. 

“I’m aware,” Chloe said. Her fingers were dancing over the steering wheel, tapping out an unsteady beat that, had Beca been more awake, would’ve signalled some kind of worry in her. 

“Why am I in your car at 4 am?” Beca asked in the same tone, not noticing the way Chloe bit her lip. 

“A surprise,” Chloe said, turning the car on. It took them two hours, stopping once to pick up coffee for Chloe while Beca slept curled tightly in the passenger seat. Two hours, with radio stations from the middle-of-nowhere Georgia preaching staticky sermons or selling beat-up cars, mixes that started to sound repetitive to the leg that was bouncing beneath the dashboard, and the thump-thump of the car over the highway that seemed to speed up the beat of Chloe’s heart. 

And, okay, a two hour carride to your proposal destination was maybe not the best thing in the world, considering the amount of mounting anxiety that was spiking into Chloe’s veins every time she looked over at the girl sleeping next to her. 

They stopped in front of the radio station, in a parking spot they never could’ve scored as students, and Chloe had to nudge Beca awake, the fingers she used not the least bit bloody from nail-biting. 

“Babe,” she said, “Babe, we’re here.” 

“Whu–” Beca jumped, hitting her head on the roof of the car as Chloe pulled her hand back quickly. “Shit, sorry. Where ar–” she paused, looking out at the street lined in trees and recognizing the courtyard quickly, “What the hell, Chlo?”

“Shhh,” Chloe said, popping the handle of her door, “Just come on. No questions allowed.” 

Beca grumbled more than a few times, mumbling swear words to herself when she stood up and stretched to find more than a few kinks in her neck, and Chloe watched her with skittish eyes, noting everything about the moment from the still-smudged eyeliner from the day before to the pajama shorts that were sinking just below her hipbone. She outlined it all, taking the contour in so as to calm herself before reaching out her hand, pulling Beca towards the doors of the old Barden radio station. 

“This is some weird shit,” Beca said, earning a glare from Chloe. She was, in kind terms, not a morning person. And it was presently six in the morning on a Saturday, which, really, Chloe should’ve thought out better, but despite the protests and the general crankiness of her girlfriend, there was a beauty to the way the fog was rising up over the campus and the silence of the studio once they passed under the door, the bells announcing their presence. 

She had to rein herself in, but she thought it was her moment too, at least a little bit, so some things had to give. 

The station was set up by Stacie, thank God for her, who was currently teaching a crash course in Human Sexuality at the school and was more than able to score the space from one of her students. ( “It’s not bribery if I  _say_ they’re gonna get an A, and then don’t give them it,” she said into the phone a few nights before, “Besides, he’s an aca-nerd. Said something about being honored to play a part in THE bechloe proposal, or some shit. I dunno. Your guys’ legacy is weird.”). Chloe made a mental note to thank her later, because every hard line of the studio was covered in christmas lights - white and purple, so as to fit to Beca’s more “alt” side - and on the stacks of records in the middle was a plate of breakfast foods with two chairs around it. Chloe walked up to them, pulling the chair out for Beca before sitting down at her own seat. 

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Beca started, holding her hands up when Chloe glared again, “That wasn’t a question, it was a statement!” 

“It counts,” Chloe countered. 

“Do you want to hear what I was going to say, or no?” Chloe made the sign of zipping her mouth shut, looking up at Beca, who’s smile disappeared into a serious line. “If you get an ounce of chocolate syrup on that Nirvana vinyl, there will be hell to pay.” 

Chloe giggled, reaching out to take Beca’s hand, “Notta problem.” 

They sat like that for a while, with Beca silent so as to not ask anymore questions, until music started up from inside the studio room, spreading out to the loud speakers. Chloe looked up, glancing at the white blanket that had been spread out on the wall opposite them. It acted as a projector screen, and Beca turned to find it, her eyebrows crinkling so that a line of confusion was furrowed there. Chloe tapped her wrist, scooting out from the make-shift table so that Beca had room to sit on her lap, and then she started to press circles into the other girl’s back. 

One of Beca’s early mixes played overhead - the first one, actually, that she let Chloe listen to - and the projector light up a picture of them at the activities fair, in particular the one that was on the college newspaper the morning after with the caption “Everyone finds their place here at Barden”. At the time, it had made Beca furious, and for a few days she would get at least one comment about being “that girl” on the front page, but she found herself grateful that there was some kind of documentation for the moment she met Chloe. That photo disappeared into the headshot Aubrey made Beca send in for auditions - a straight-faced picture, clearly left over from senior year of high school - accompanied by scans of Chloe’s notes on her, which included a few hearts and copious amounts of exclamation points. Beca giggled, eyes flashing to Chloe’s for a moment. 

A few pictures from Freshman rehearsals flashed by, and there was one of them in the courtyard, studying, with Chloe’s head resting in Beca’s lap. They were squinting, the sun setting behind Jesse’s photography-class camera, and Beca had a side-smirk. It was her profile picture for three months. Then, a screenshot of a conversation with Amy and Chloe: 

_Fat Amy: Didn’t know you played for the lady team_

_Chloe: What?_

_Fat Amy: You and miss DJ dingo_

_Chloe: That’s not…a thing…?_

_Fat Amy: Says you. Keep it PG, I don’t want our lesbi-ratio to be thrown off._

Beca laughed when she read through that, and in the slides that followed were all the conversations the Bellas had had with Chloe about the two of them - all the speculations - until finally, there was one with Aubrey and Chloe, from Beca’s junior year. 

_Chloe: I don’t know what to do_

_Aubrey: What to do is tell her_

_Chloe: And if I lose her_

_Chloe: ?_

_Aubrey: Is it worth the risk?_

_Chloe: I don’t know_

_Chloe: I think I’m in love with her, Bree_

Beca hand reached around to grab Chloe’s, squeezing it. The projection carried them through the ICCA’s of every year, each time with Chloe’s arms wrapped around Beca’s stomach as they both smiled victoriously. Then, the photos from their trip to Chloe’s family’s beach house over the summer of their senior year, all the memories flooding in until they reached the graduation photos, complete with a selfie of Chloe kissing Beca’s cheek on the night before they moved out. Followed by a selfie of Chloe kissing Beca’s mouth on the morning they moved in. It carried on like that - first days of work, and sleepy mornings, and afternoons spent on the couch with Chloe wrestling Beca to get a good picture, until finally they reached the car-ride they had taken this morning, with Beca curled into a ball and Chloe angling the camera with one hand, the other positioned at her lips, so she was giving a “shhh” sign. 

The caption to it read, “When bae doesn’t even know I’m proposing to her today”. 

Chloe watched Beca squint to read the words, mouthing them until she finally understood their meaning. Her eyes widened and Chloe’s shut for a moment, as she took in a deeply unsteady breath. 

“Chloe,” Beca said, her voice wavering on cautious, like when she wasn’t entirely sure of the smell coming from the kitchen. Chloe bit her lip, her hand wrapping around Beca’s waist and squeezing. 

“Yeah?” 

“Did you just…” Beca shifted in Chloe’s lap, her thumb pointing to the projector, “Did you just propose to me via a snapchat?” 

Chloe winced. “Um,” she squeaked, worrying a dent into her lip, “Can you…just…like…” she shifted, and Beca hopped up off of her lap, standing warily and looking down at the redhead who had just moved to one knee. “So,” Chloe said, “I thought…I dunno,” she started, sighing. She shook her head. “I know this scares you. So I thought I would take you to where you felt the most comfortable.” 

“Barden Radio?” 

“Yeah,” Chloe breathed, hazarding a glance at Beca, who was grinning from ear to ear. It was enough motivation to push her ahead. “So…um…You know all the things I want to say. Mostly because you’re probably already ready to laugh at me for them. So…I’ll spare you the torture. But, um. Would it be bad to say that you make me feel bulletproof?” 

“Oh my Godddd,” Beca groaned, laughing with her head tilted back. Chloe giggled at them, shifting slightly on her knee. 

“Thank God you laughed at that,” she said, clearing her throat. “Okay, so, pretty much, I knew…that you were special since…well since always. And I don’t think I even knew that I knew, you know? Anyway, we’ve always just made sense, and, okay, so don’t laugh, but remember when I asked you…that first day…to…help us turn our dreams into a reality?” 

“God, yes,” Beca said, laughing, “Disney princess much?” 

“Yeah, wellllll,” Chloe said, stretching out the word, “You kinda did. More than…more than I ever really bargained for. I never pegged you for an over-achiever but, uh, here we are.” 

Someone outside drove past, their music blaring from the speakers. Chloe’s eyes shot to them before quickly glancing at the clock. “Right, I don’t have loads of time. Seven is a prime hour for radio, turns out.” Beca clicked her tongue in agreement as Chloe took her hands. “So, I don’t know how else to do this other than just asking…Beca…I mean, Beca Mitchell, that is…will you…marry me?” 

Stacie was the only one listening to the college radio at six in the morning, and it would be reported later than in her office, she yelled out a victorious “Thank GOD” when the sound of Beca’s freshman mixes were interrupted with Chloe’s teary voice letting out a breathy, “She said yes. She…said yes!” 


	178. The One with the Lake Weekends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so in the south lake weekends are a thing. I dunno if you knew that you probably did. But like Beca an Chloe at the lake tubing and waterskiing and them sitting in the boat and Beca laying her head in Chloe's lap and falling asleep and getting half sunburned depending on how she was sleeping u know what I mean (definitely not inspired by true events that happened today) and Chloe like plays with becas hair and stuff and they're not together yet !!! But they can be at the end if u want THNX — sent by annakendicks

Beca did not prefer the outdoors. Like, she would  _go_ outside, if necessary, because she’d learned early on that living exclusively within the four walls of a building was not possible - one needed, at the very least, to trek from the house to the car and back again semi-frequently. But overall, if given the choice, she would stay inside most days. The outside had bugs, and sun, and a whole slew of other things that had the potential to end her pleasant time here on Earth. 

So when Chloe suggested a lake weekend, she was less than thrill. In fact, she audibly groaned, so as to make certain what she thought of Chloe’s stellar idea. But the thing about Chloe was that no one simply said no to her. No one was capable of looking at her - looking at her straight in the eyes - and saying that two letter word. Which was why Beca was dragged out, forced into a swim suit that she had to borrow from Emily that peaked out from under her t-shirt even though she tugged the ties low. 

And, if she were being honest, she would say that the overall discomfort of the bikini top that was two cups too small ( _really_ , Emily? Five feet and eight inches and you couldn’t put some of it in places more convenient for a girl built like Beca?) was overtaken by the way Chloe squealed when she walked out and into the car, and way overshadowed when Chloe started to sing on her way down to the lake. Because Chloe’s voice was more than just good - the was  _happy_ , even when it was sad, and that, combined with the wind of the highway on Beca’s face, was enough to make the nervousness about the sunshine disappear and be replaced by some truly horrendous car-hair. 

Still, it was a day of force, to say the least. They got to the lake, and Chloe was the one who unbuckled Beca’s seat belt, just as she was the one to open Beca’s door, grabbing her hands and  _pulling_ her out of the car. Then, she was the one to force Beca onto the sand, which was burning hot and only resulted in  _more_ complaining, followed by being the one who had to _make_ Beca stand still to put sunscreen on (that one, though, was something she would’ve willingly done any day of the week. Thank you, Emily…I mean… _whatttt?)._ But it was nothing that Chloe didn’t expect; a day of taking Beca outside of the house simply meant a day of dealing with “the grumps” as she’d called them, and the blows of rolled eyes or crossed arms really stopped hurting after a while and just became adorable. 

Chloe found that she enjoyed forcing Beca to have fun more than she enjoyed, really, having fun most of the time. So they went tubing, because somehow Fat Amy had procured a boat, and Lilly had rope in the backseat, and Beca cracked a smile - for the first time - on her own. And when the tube flipped over, leaving Beca scrambling in the water, she laughed - an actual, gut laugh - and Chloe cannonballed into the water with her, splashing her and quickly pulling her under the water. 

They finally made it back to the boat, Chloe pulling Beca onto it, and collapsed onto the deck, giggling non-stop until CR threw towels at them, mumbling something about “too much for even me to handle”. Somehow, Beca moved to rest her head in Chloe’s lap, looking up at her between eyelashes that were still matted together by water drops. Chloe reached out, catching a droplet from Beca’s forehead with her thumb. 

“Thanks for coming,” she said, leaning back on her hands.

“Thanks for making me,” Beca hummed. “S’fun.” 

“Did you just admit you  _liked_ one of my bonding activities?!” Chloe squealed, but Beca winced in response, holding up her hand. 

“To much physical activity,” she groaned, “No shouting.”

“Physical activity and noise sensitivity don’t go together,” Chloe argued. The boat turned around the edge of the lake, so that their side was now exposed to the shore and the trees that lined it. Together, they watched a few houses go by. 

“They do for me,” Beca said sleepily, letting out a yawn. Chloe chucked, her hand failing to Beca’s head and starting to rake the hair there. She was humming a tune that Chloe didn’t recognize - nor did she want to, because it was haunting in and of itself and noticing the melody would’ve or could’ve ruined that - but it was slowly faltering, until it reached a total stop. 

“Beca?” Chloe said, shifting around to look at Beca, who’s eyes were closed with a soft smile on her face. Chloe smiled in return, her hands still tracing patterns in the girl’s hair. Her nose was brushed with a pink that would undoubtedly be burnt red by the end of the night, and the edges of her makeshift bun were curled and frizzed out at the crown. Somehow, she looked younger, smoother…like this was the Beca before whatever cloud had settled on her eyebrow. Chloe’s hand traced the spot that was normally furrowed there, feeling how smooth it was, before moving down to tickle the pink edge of Beca’s nose. The other girl sniffed, then, making Chloe’s hand fly back as a squeal escaped her lips. 

The boat’s engine stuttered to a halt, and Stacie jumped out to tie it to the dock, but Beca didn’t move from where she sat, head positioned on Chloe’s lap. 

“You two coming?” CR asked before she hopped onto the dock, but Chloe held up her hand, shaking her head. The other girl shrugged, and each Bella followed - though Jessica stopped to take a picture of “pre-Bechloe Bechloe”. Whatever that meant. 

When everyone left, the boat was infinitely more quiet, and the silence of the water, blended with the cicadas outside, sifted out and over their forms. It was enough to, after about a half hour, nudge Beca awake. 

“Hey sleepyhead,” Chloe said, tired eyes turning into smiles. Beca didn’t move her head, instead reaching up to wipe the sleep from her eyes. 

“It’s night,” she mumbled, which made Chloe chuckle. “Well, why are we still here?” 

“Didn’t wanna wake ya,” Chloe said easily, shrugging. 

“So what have you been doing, weirdo? Watching me sleep?” 

“More like worrying about that sunburn you’re gonna have tomorrow,” Chloe answered, to which Beca winced and reached up to touch her nose cautiously. “It’s okay though,” Chloe added, “You needed the sun.” 

“Are you trying to tell me that you don’t like my pale ass?” Beca said jokingly, regaining a touch of wit as she woke up more. 

“Hmmm,” Chloe said, the grin widening on her face though she tried to hide it with a bitten lip, “I’m trying to say it’s ten times more beautiful when it’s a little kissed by some vitamin C.” 

“Ha,” Beca said, shooting up and ruining the impossible levels of closeness they had somehow reached. It seemed that she only noticed the proximity after she shot up, as suddenly a blush covered over her face. “I got you to admit you liked my ass.” 

“Well of course I do,” Chloe argued, shrugging it off though her own cheeks were warm too, “Why do you think I always put the syncopated booty shake to all your parts of our routine, Geek.” 


	179. The One with the Bisexual Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey your writing is like amazing and you're one of my faves 

“You like guys,” Amy said, looking between Chloe and Beca like she was watching some invisible tennis match being played between them. “And you like girls.” 

Chloe put a hand on Amy’s shoulder. “You better bi-lieve it.” 

Beca rolled her eyes, biting the inside of her cheek as she took a step forward to wrap an arm around Chloe’s waist. “That was the most terrible thing you’ve ever said.” 

“I think it’s awesome,” Stacie said from behind Amy, “Sexuality is just a social construct anyway. It’s all a spectrum.” 

“And where are you on that spectrum?” CR asked, eyes running up and down Stacie’s form as she stretched at the makeshift barre. Stacie laughed, pulling up from her torso and leaning into the other girl’s stare. 

“Anywhere you want me to be,” she said with a mocking wink, earning a punch in the shoulder from CR and a grimace from Beca. “Anyway, though, that’s totally good for you guys.” 

“Yeah,” CR said, finally breaking away from Stacie’s body to throw a glance at the two girls. “Welcome to the family. Y’all are like my cousins now or something.” 

“Yeah, only, if I had known I was joining the lesbi-troupe, I would’ve bought more rainbow,” Amy said under her breath. Chloe moved to stand next to the piano, and, on instinct, Beca followed. “Not that I’m surprised. Just, like, gotta adjust my ratios.” 

“No adjusting,” Beca said, her finger up. “Because your ratio was for lesbians. Which we–” her finger bounced between herself and the redhead, “Are not.” 

“Yeah, yeah, because of the dude thing,” Amy said, waving her hand.

“Sometimes, I’m sexually attracted to iguanas,” Lilly whispered from the corner of the room, but no one heard. 

“OMG,” Emily suddenly squealed, standing up from behind Lilly, who’d spurred the attention of the entire room even though they didn’t understand what she’d said. “I have, like, the greatest idea.” 

“Spill, then, legacy,” Stacie said, sitting cross-legged and reaching to touch her toes. 

“We should have a bi-bash! Or…Bi-ball? Bi…partison party??” She trailed off slowly, watching the squinting eyes of the girls around her, until finally Chloe broke the stares with a squeal and a smile. 

“We’re gonna have to work on the puns, there, Em,” Beca said, rolling her eyes and punching Emily lightly on the shoulder. “But if it’s a thing Chloe wants then…” 

“Then bi-bring it!” Amy said, clapping to others excited hoots and hollers. 

“That’s not even…” Beca pushed her hair back, frustrated, “That’s not even a pun!” 

“Aca-scuse you, Beca,” Chloe said. She took Beca’s hand. “Would you rather we turn to acapella humor?” 

“I hate you all,” was all Beca said by way of response. 

Or, should I say, bi gay of response. Eh? Eh? 

“Not all of us, apparently,” Jessica spoke up, eying the hand being held by Chloe. 

“Yeah, did you just agree to a party for the sake of your babe-bi?” Ashley asked, which made Beca outwardly groan. The girl then made the noise of a whip, motioning it, while the Bellas all clicked their tongues in agreement. 

“Adorable, really,” Stacie shot back from where she was rolling her shoulders. 

“Yeah, yeah, an bi-nspiration for us all,” Amy said, finally stepping away from the couple and trying (and failing) to start the stretches Stacie started ten minutes ago. 

“But now it’s time to rehearse,” Chloe said. She clapped to pull everyone’s attention back to the practice at hand. 

“Yeah,” Beca coughed, pulling her hair up into a ponytail, “Bi time, high time?”

Chloe turned around, gasping and slapping Beca on the arm. “You!” she squealed, “Are terrible!” 

“Meh,” Beca shrugged, “But you love me.” 


	180. The One with the Ill Beca and the First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i love all your works i love you i love you and i love you so.. i have prompt if you do still take and if you're not busy ofcourse, Beca is sick like really sick and didn't get to go to her and Chloe's first date and Chloe got really mad and eent to Beca's room and you go ob from there! :-) — sent by anonymous

Chloe understood Beca’s nervousness. Backstage or before midterms or between text messages with her parents, she would get quiet, biting furiously at her thumbnail until it bled, and Chloe, nine times out of ten, understood it. 

And for Beca to be nervous about their first date…well…that was  _more_ than understandable. Hell, even Chloe, in all her easy smiles and laidback breaths, was currently freaking out about it all. She’d been in a state of panic all week leading up to then. But, between her anxiety and the clock on Aubrey’s dresser that indicated that Beca was now an hour late…yeah, Chloe was a little less than understanding about this instance of Beca Nerves. Because there was a line between being anxious and being rude - some might say, (if the “some” in question was a particularly theatrical redhead) that it was more than rude. It was downright heartbreaking. 

So when she knocked on Beca’s door, it was not with the least bit of empathy, sympathy, or kindness. She nearly knocked Kimmy Jin out with a punch to the nose when she opened the door mid-knock, in fact. 

“This is not in the roommate agreement,” the woman said, stepping away from the door to pick up her books. “I’m leaving this micro-hotbed of disease. Tell her to tell me when she’s better.” 

“Wh–” Chloe was cut off by Kimmy rushing past her through the door and into the hallway. It was only after she left that Chloe was able to see the lump on the bed, shifting just enough to show Chloe that there was something living beneath the blankets. 

“Beca, you’re sleeping?!  _You’re seriously sleeping right now?”_

From beneath the blankets, she saw a nose peak out just enough for a crackly voice to mumble out a quiet, “Fuck.” 

“Oh,” Chloe said quickly, responding to the way Beca’s voice seemed to sound like it was being compressed by a thousand pounds, which she imagined at this point was not unlike what the other girl’s head must feel like. She rushed to Beca’s bed, reaching to pull down the covers. “Beca?” she said, her tone significantly softer than it had been seconds ago. 

“Nob,” Beca mumbled, her words garbled by a sniffle. “Don’.” 

“Beca,” Chloe repeated, this time tugging at the blanket. “Are you alright?” 

“Sick,” Beca said. She had pressed her head into the pillow face first, scooting so that she was in fetal position, but the word seemed to bring about a coughing fit that forced her to turn her head, eventually sitting up until it stopped. When she finally managed to control it, she looked at Chloe, eyes watery from the impact. There was a weak smile on her face, lined in the pink from her nose, and she looked even paler than usual. Her hair was matted to her head in sweat. “Heyb,” she said, sniffling again, “Sexy, righ’?” 

Chloe reached up, putting the back of her head on Beca’s cheek. It was burning hot, and clammy too, but she brushed it slightly over her jawline, tutting. “You poor thing,” she started, to which Beca rolled her eyes, “Here I thought you were flaking on me.”

“Wha?” Beca said, her eyes bugging open as much as she could manage. “No-b, no-b, I wouldn’ do dat! No-b, dude, I texted’ou.” 

Chloe pulled her face into a grimace, holding up her phone. “No,” she said, her voice light and joking, “You didn’t, Babe.” 

The frown Beca put on couldn’t be described as anything but adorable, and Chloe found herself grinning at the way Beca seemed to shrink down into a child when she was sick - her signature crossed arms becoming sweetly innocent if not pitiable. She pouted, pulling Beca’s hair back. “Lie down,” she said, patting the pillow. “Have you had anything to eat? Any water?” 

“Chlo-b,” she said, this time into the pillow again, “You don’ haft to…oh,” she turned her head quickly, wincing at the way it hurt her temples, “’Ou look beautiful.” 

Chloe chuckled, then moved to pull her hair up. “Yeah, well, didn’t wanna disappoint. I have a hot date tonight, you know.” 

“Yea-b, if hot means above average body temp-a-ture,” Beca argued, which only made Chloe laugh more. “I’b so sorry, Chlo.” 

“Beca,” Chloe said, starting to rub circles on the other girl’s back, “It’s okay. Raincheck.” 

“Yeah-b,” Beca breathed, starting up another coughing fit. “You meab you don’ wanna kiss this?” 

Chloe looked down, laughing to herself. “You’re definitely a winner, Beca Mitchell,” she said mockingly, then bent down to press a peck to Beca’s forehead. Beca hummed into it. 

“Score,” she whispered under her breath, closing her eyes just enough to fall asleep. 


	181. The One with the Girlfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you write one that's like they're living in different cities after graduation and they don't see each other until Christmas when Beca finds out that Chloe was serious about the experimenting thing and was dating a girl. Becs gets mad bc 1. Chloe didn't tell her even though they talk all the time 2. She realizes she's jealous but missed her chance. Angstyyy. Ily — sent by anonymous

Beca was in the middle of an intense battle between her fight instinct and her flight instinct. There were garlic breadsticks involved, though, so she bit down any urge to run and slip out of the bathroom window, deciding instead to throw an eager and entirely fake smile towards the two women currently walking into the restaurant. 

The minute the two women walked through the door, Beca’s eyes flitted from the hand that Chloe was holding to the cheek that was pressed against the other girl’s shoulder, and debating for more than few seconds the possibility of Chloe having a  _really_ close sister that she just…never…talked…about? And then all paths of thought were erased when Chloe spotted Beca, squealing and dropping the other girl’s hand immediately to run over to Beca - a move that wasn’t entirely appropriate for the sit-down restaurant they had decided to meet at, but, whatever, the waiter throwing them a glare could kiss Beca’s ass. The sound of Chloe laughing right in her ear was enough to make her forget about the importance of good etiquette in such places. 

She was here again. Warm and smiling and smelling like citrus, as if nothing had changed at all. Beca didn’t realize how much she’d missed Chloe until this very moment, and it came crashing down on her within a fraction of a second so that Chloe was surprised by the force with which Beca held her, letting out a small gasp. Neither of them separated, though, and Beca could hear the ridiculous giggles being let out of her chest. 

When she opened her eyes, chin placed carefully on Chloe’s shoulder, she saw bright green eyes smiling back, waiting patiently with a nervous fiddle to her hands. Beca decided, then, that it was the right time to pull away. She didn’t want to make a scene.

“Who is this?” Beca asked, hating that her voice cracked just enough to hint at jealousy. She hoped Chloe hadn’t noticed, but judging by the proud smirk rising up her face, her hope was useless. 

“This,” Chloe said, moving away from Beca to stand next to the woman, “Is my girlfriend.” 

She saw it like a flash in her eyes, a slide show moving a mile a minute: there was Chloe, stationed next to her in the tent with their noses touching, telling Beca about how she wanted to experiment. There was the hint of disappointment on her face - a hint that Beca told herself she imagined - when Beca flipped around with a sharp no on her lips. There were the lingering touches, and the way Chloe tried at the World’s afterparty to kiss Beca on the cheek. There was the way her lips burned Beca’s jawline. 

Then, there was the hands, again the hands, entwined in the laps of the girls who sat across the table from Beca. They were telling Beca how they met - some story about a traffic jam and a honked horn, though Beca couldn’t focus on anything but Chloe’s lips and then the way that the other girl was looking at them too. The way the other girl was  _allowed_ to look at them. 

It was a strange feeling, this jealousy. And she wasn’t sure if it was because she was the one with the original offer, or because of something deeper and more certain, but she couldn’t help but feel like she had some kind of ownership over Chloe. Or, at the very least,  _deserved_ ownership of her. 

Okay, maybe, at the very, very least,  _wanted_ ownership of her. 

Her attention snapped back immediately when they talked about Thanksgiving - how Chloe visited her parents and they seemed “like sweethearts”. 

“You’ve been together for that long, huh?” Beca said, choking on her water. Chloe eyed her suspiciously. 

“Yeah,” she said, “I told you we met in June when I moved out.” 

“Right, right, no,” Beca said quickly. She was twisting the napkin in her hands, and there was no doubt that she was giving herself a fabric burn. 

“What about you, Beca?” the girl asked sweetly, trying to divert the tension. “I’ve heard so much about you.” 

“Oh, really?” Beca said. Her smile was poison. “I’ve heard jack shit about you.”

“Beca!” Chloe gasped, but Beca just leaned forward. 

“No, I mean, she should know, right?” Beca said, “Chloe hasn’t told me a thing about you. In fact, this is the first I’m hearing about a relationship at all.” 

“It must’ve slipped my mind,” Chloe answered. She looked sheepishly at her girlfriend, waving away the claim with her hand. 

“Yeah, which is weird, because we literally talk every single day. Hmm,” Beca tutted, lifting her glass to her mouth. “Totes crazy.” 

“Beca,” Chloe whispered, glaring at the girl. “What the hell?” 

“What the hell?! Dude, no! I’m the one who gets to say that!” 

The waiter from earlier threw a harsh “shh” their way, which Beca barely registered, turning her voice down half a volume level. 

“You didn’t even tell me you liked girls, Chloe,” she spat, “Forgive me for feeling like that’s kinda a big deal.” 

“I didn’t…I…” Chloe stopped herself, resting her forehead in her hands. “I thought you knew.” 

“How would I have known, Chlo?” Beca asked. The extra woman at the table was watching the interaction without a touch of reaction on her face, maintaining the back-and-forth that comes with tennis matches. 

Chloe shrugged, sighing. “I just…” she breathed, “Can we please talk about this later?” 

“No,” Beca said. She threw her napkin on her bread plate. “I think you’ve postponed long enough, what do you think?” 

“I’m gonna…” the girl pointed towards the bathroom, “Excuse myself and head to the ladies’ room.” 

“That’s swell,” Beca said with a fake smile for the ages, “You do that.” 

“Beca, stop tha–” but by the time Chloe finished her chastisement, her girlfriend was already out of earshot, and she practically lunged across the table. “What the eff has gotten into you?” 

“You tell me,” Beca grumbled, arms crossing. 

“I’m dating someone, so what,” Chloe said, “Big whoop, Beca.” 

“It’s not…” Beca stopped herself, holding the bridge of her nose. She couldn’t quite explain why she was close to tears, or why she was angry at all, but here Chloe was sitting across from her at dinner, and it was different. Sharply, distinctly different. Because in another time, in the safety of the past, Chloe wouldn’t be across from her at all. She’d be pressed next to her, squeezed into one side of the booth with hands forcing themselves to be held by Beca’s, singing whatever Christmas carol was playing on the speakers. “I miss you,” she finally admitted, her voice cracking. “I really fucking miss you.” 

“I’m right here, Becs,” Chloe answered, her voice softer than it was only a moment ago. 

“No!” she said, forcing her voice quieter, “No. That’s not it…That’s…God, I miss you.” 

Chloe took a second, watching the way Beca had to catch the tears before they fell out of her eyes. She took a breath. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought you knew.” 

“How would I have known?” Beca asked, already reaching the point of breathless crying. 

“I thought…I made it clear,” Chloe said, “That I liked girls. That I liked you.” 

Beca swallowed, not realizing she was holding her breath until that moment. When she spoke, her words were so warbly, Chloe would’ve laughed. “Liked?” 

The redhead took a sharp breath, pushing her eyes up to the ceiling. “Like,” she said with her eyes closed. “Love.” 

From behind Chloe, the girlfriend emerged from the bathroom, seeing Beca’s tear-stained face and stopping. Beca pushed the image of her out of her mind, blurring it until the only thing her eyes could focus on were Chloe’s. 

“Yeah,” she said, though she wasn’t sure where the words were coming from. “Me too.” 

 

\--

 

“Shit,” Chloe whispered, throwing a quick glance behind her to see her girlfriend watching the interaction with a jaw set and arms crossed. She quickly reached up, wiping the tears that were threatening to fall before looking at her phone to check her appearance. “Hey,” she shot out, hoping that it held a semblance of organic cheeriness. Her girlfriend, Quinn (…or Queen…or Quincy…?…Who the hell has a name that starts with Q anyway), scooted into the space next to Chloe, taking a deep breath before looking at Beca. 

“Everything alright here, Babe?” she said, smiling sweetly. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Chloe said quickly, picking up her menu, but Beca shifted at the other side of the table. 

“Chl–” she started, but the other girl held up a hand. 

“Um, Becs,” she said, her voice impossibly small. Quiet. Almost, guilty. “Can we talk about it after dinner, maybe? Or…something…” 

Beca took a deep breath, looking at the blonde. She saw, then, an ounce of nervousness - or, really, a gallon of it - covering all of the other girl’s features. She was certain that under the table, the other girl left crescent nail marks from holding Chloe’s hand so tightly, and she almost started to feel bad for her. For what Beca was confident she had overheard, and for the way that Chloe was now fiddling with the edges of her hair in the exact way that Beca knew meant her mind was elsewhere. 

And then she realized that she was in no position to feel sorry for Chloe’s girlfriend. No. Chloe’s girlfriend, in fact, should be feeling sorry for her. 

“Right,” she said, her eyes skirting down to the menu on the table. “Right. Yeah. That’s….yeah. So, I hear that the pasta is good? What? No, I made that up. I’m sorry.” 

The other girl laughed, then, a sound that was so forced Beca wanted to hit her head against the table. “Chloe told me you rambled when you got nervous,” she said, holding a hand up to her mouth. “It’s…cute.” 

“Thanks,” Beca grumbled sharply, her pity dispersing and being replaced by something more bitter. What was a poor attempt at breaking the tension ended up being some jab at Beca - underhanded, sure, but still clear in it’s possessiveness. Beca was  _cute._ Quinn was  _hers._

The rest of the dinner passed much like that - with occasional breaks where Beca made an unmatched effort to behave, but mostly ended up sharply grumbling something sarcastic under her breath and gaining bruises from the redhead across the booth. Still, it was nice to know not  _everything_ changed, even if it meant her leg had to start getting used to being kicked over and over during the course of her meal. 

When the waiter - equally as exasperated with the situation as all of them were, if not more - exhaustedly and disinterestedly offered them all dessert, Beca shot a panicked look at Chloe before answering swiftly with a “Oh God, no”, maintaining an eagerness that earned her yet another kick to the shin. 

At least she made the waiter’s night. 

“I know we were going to go see the lights downtown,” Quinn (Beca finally got that confirmed, at least, over the course of their conversations) started, turning towards Chloe. “But I’m tired. Thinkin’ of heading back.” 

“Oh,” Chloe said, her breath forming cold clouds in the snow. “Yeah…Um. Wait…no.” 

“No?” Beca stepped in, realizing her mistake and moving away while mouthing a quick “sorry”. 

“No,” Chloe confirmed, taking a deep breath. “Beca, actually, I think I’m headed back with her.” 

“What?” the two girls said it in unison - the only mark of comradery they managed all night. 

“Yeah,” Chloe said with another breath and a nod, “We’ve got a long day, and…” she paused when she looked at Beca, who was now trying to keep her face from crumbling again. “Beca,” she said, tilting her head, “Don’t….with that look.” 

“I’m not giving you a look,” Beca said, but even her voice gave away the falsity of that statement. Chloe broke away from Quinn, putting a hand on Beca’s shoulders. 

“I’m going to call you,” she said, “Just…Sorry about all this.” 

It seemed sudden. And strange. Because in one second Chloe Beale was telling Beca she loved her in the middle of a restaurant and in the next she was walking into her rental car holding hands with a blonde and trying to laugh to break the way the sky seemed to be heavier on all of them, and Beca didn’t get it. She might have owed this blonde girl six months, but she owed Beca five years. There was a certain hierarchy to adhere to. 

Beca made a point of pulling out her phone as the car left the parking lot, trying her best to ignore the way music immediately poured from the car stereo and through the doors. It was Christmas carols - classic Mariah Carey (which, really, Beca was starting to hate all that she’d become partially because she’d just been rejected by Chloe and largely because she was now the type of person who referred to Mariah Carey as “classic”) - and she could almost  _feel_ Chloe there singing it to her, missing all the high notes even though Beca knew for certain it was in her range. 

Her belt went pretty high, although…no…that was not a thing to think about right now. Or ever, apparently. 

And that’s when it hit her - the consequences of that dinner and the words shared between them. Because somewhere in the back of her mind there was always an  _inkling_ of hope or promise or something akin to a blend of those two that they would be together in the end. Five, ten, fifteen years down the line, they’d be holed up in a crazy house - dirty only where Beca chose to leave her stuff, but covered in red hair and dirty plates lined in Chloe’s famous strawberry shortcake. 

While nothing about the impossibility of that future had changed - the chances were, admittedly, pretty low to begin with, Beca thought - there seemed now to be a definite “no” stamped on top of that image. Chloe had confirmed the suspicions Beca didn’t even know she had had, and the proceeded to turn her down. With someone else. 

She had the choice, and she choose. 

Which was enough of an answer for Beca, even if it wasn’t the answer she wanted. 

She was no more than five steps into her journey back to her apartment when her phone started to ring, and it took at least five of those obnoxious tones to wear themselves out before she had the guts to press “Answer”. 

“You don’t have to do this,” she said by way of greeting, watching how her breath was visible in the chill. She hadn’t noticed the temperature until this very moment, and suddenly she was aware that she couldn’t feel her fingers. 

“Beca, don’t be dramatic,” Chloe tutted, and it was so familiar - so exactly like every single time Chloe had said that to her - that Beca almost forgot what they were talking about. Then, like clockwork, she felt that sharp pang in her chest and remembered who put it there and how. 

“Oh, yeah, sorry, I just confessed my love for you to myself and to you in the middle of a three-and-a-half star restaurant on Yelp while your painfully attractive girlfriend was in the bathroom, and  _now_ I’m being dramatic.” 

“You’re trying to tell me you aren’t being dramatic by pointing out a time from the past when you  _were_ being dramatic?” Chloe asked, and Beca huffed.

“Whatever!” she said quickly, “That’s not the point.” 

“Right,” Chloe agreed. “Beca, I–”

“Save it,” Beca said. She turned down her street, seeing her house and the lamp she accidentally left on. “It’s fine. No explanation needed. She’s hot. I’m cute. She’s gay…or…something….some part of that acronym alphabet soup. I’m….well…apparently not straight, if tonight’s any indication…She’s…”

“Beca, I gave you the chance,” Chloe said. It almost made Beca angry how calm she was. “You turned me down first.” 

“That’s not….” Beca stopped herself, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t know what I wanted then.” 

“You shouldn’t have had to have known.” 

“Chloe,” Beca decided to sit on her stoop instead of making the final steps up to her place. There was something comforting about the cold. Something right. “That’s not how it works.” 

Her voice cracked at the end, and whether it was the breeze or what she said, she sniffled sharply. On the other end of the line, she heard Chloe sigh. For a few seconds, there was nothing but crackling static. 

“I know,” Chloe admitted. Beca could almost see her, one hand propping up her head as she tried to figure it out. It was one of her favorite versions of Chloe - the one that was trying so hard to make everyone happy that she almost forgot about herself. It was the Chloe that had red cheeks and tired eyes and hair that was held up by a pencil. It was the Chloe that always asked sweetly for a night in with Chinese food. 

“Chloe, I want you,” Beca said, her lip trembling in time to her voice. “I didn’t know, and I’m so sorry. I feel like…God, I’m such an idiot. Because if I’d have said yes…If I’d have jus–” 

“Beca,” Chloe interrupted, “No, no, it’s not….like….something you can place blame on.” 

“You don’t know how much self-loathing I’m capable of,” Beca grumbled, and from the other end of the line, Chloe laughed. It was enough to break Beca out of whatever numbness she was in, and she took one shaky breath. “Okay,” she tried, “Quinn seems great. I’m glad I could meet her.” 

Chloe chuckled from the other end. “That was weak, Mitchell, and you know it.” 

“Yeah, well,” Beca said, shrugging, “She’s kinda dating my soulmate, so.” 

“Hmm,” Chloe said by way of response. Then, total silence. Beca thought she heard a horn honking on the other end of the line, but it was muffled by movement, and she thought for a fraction of a second that the redhead had dropped her phone down the fire escape. Again. (Halloween parties for junior high school teachers  _apparently_ get pretty crazy). 

“What, cat’s got your tongue?” Beca said. Her voice was still wobbly, and just the sound of Chloe breathing was enough to make her start crying again, but she thought that this was better than nothing. Talking to Chloe about the girl she loved was better than not talking to Chloe at all. 

“No,” Chloe said, “No, I’m just thinking.” 

“About?” 

Chloe sighed. “About how to tell you that I’m not really dating her anymore.” 

Beca hated the fact that she stood up at that news. Sometimes, she was all too aware of her status as tiny cartoon character. 

“What the fuck?” 

Chloe laughed, and again there was the sound of a car speeding past her. “Yeah,” she said, “There was someone else.” 

“Chloe, what the hell, I’ve literally left you alone for six months and you’re already seeing two gi–”

“Beca,” Chloe said, and Beca swore she heard it in stereo sound - from her phone and then from somewhere behind her, echoing. She spun around on instinct, finding Chloe standing at the base of the steps with a smile that she regretted taking for granted every day for four years. “You goof. It’s you.” 

They met at the middle step, Chloe wrapping her mittened hands around Beca’s waist. “Oh,” Beca said, and she couldn’t help the eyes that flitted to Chloe’s lips. “Ummm…” she squeaked. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she knew it, and her nose was running from the cold. “We could go inside and ta–” 

“God,” Chloe groaned, “Please kiss me.” 

It had been a night of Beca not realizing what she wanted when she wanted it. 

But this….this was something she had no doubt in her mind she wanted. So she moved her hands up from Chloe’s shoulders to her cheeks, grinning when the girl shivered from the chill of her touch. When their noses were touching, Beca stopped, watching the way Chloe held her breath. 

“Quinn?” 

Chloe’s mouth closed quickly into a frustrated but amused line as she reached out to punch Beca on the shoulder. “I wanted to tell her before I talked to you,” she said, “Because I knew when I talked to you, I wouldn’t want to…well… _talk_ to you.” 

“Oh,” Beca said again, still not moving her face away from Chloe’s. 

“Yeah, you said that,” Chloe commented, and Beca smiled. 

“S’a night of surprises,” she mumbled, feeling Chloe’s hands pull her closer. 

“Shut up please,” was all Chloe said in response before she pressed her lips against Beca’s, kissing her on the stoop of Beca’s apartment as the snow fell - and effectively fulfilling every wish she had to live inside a wonderfully corny romantic comedy. Well, almost every wish. There was just  _one_ more thing to make the scene perfect. Which was why, when she pulled away, watching Beca’s eyes flutter open again, she smiled, predicted Beca’s groan and eye-roll when she said,

“Guess I got what I wanted for Christmas.” 


	182. The One With the Paranoia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Chloe's been acting really weird around beca lately and beca starts to think they're gonna break up, just before their two year anniversary no less. Cue really paranoid beca angst. Reason behind Chloe's behavior is up to you — sent by rogue-thirteen

Chloe doesn’t listen to music with headphones. Just like her life, she always put her songs on the loudspeakers, because “who doesn’t need a little music in their life, anyway?” 

Except, two weeks ago, she bought a pair of ten dollar earbuds, and when she listened to things, she plugged them in. Instead of dancing, she sat on the edge of the couch, biting her thumbnail and staring at the one place on the carpet where Beca tended to nervously tug at the strings. 

When Beca came home, night after night at exactly the same time as she always did, Chloe was on her way out, bouncing to start her second jog of the day with glances around the corners of their apartment as a way of avoiding the disappointment in Beca’s eyes. 

The jog lasted as long as three hours one night, and that’s when Beca became convinced that she was, at the very least, going to break up with her. At the very worst, she was already seeing someone else. And so, after that night, those few hours were spent simply thinking about how inevitable it all was - staring into the mirror and thinking that it just makes sense, because Beca can’t possibly be all that Chloe deserved, and she really was just dumb for not expecting it sooner. 

It’s just unfortunate, she thought, because they were coming up to their two-year anniversary, and while Beca wasn’t one to celebrate such things, there  _was_ such a thing as bad timing. 

But Chloe was Chloe, and no matter what the occasion, she preferred a touched of fanfare and sentimentality, so when their two year anniversary  _did_ roll around, Beca expected the worst. Sometimes, Chloe’s “nothing but good intentions” role dropped Beca straight into a pit of cruel irony. 

“Just do it,” Beca said, standing in the entrance to their bathroom as Chloe put on her mascara. She was holding up her dress with a hand in the front, waiting for the redhead to zip her up (the request for such an act resulted in Chloe snapping back with “In a sec, Bec. Jesus”), and, sure, she would have preferred to be fully clothed, with hair that wasn’t soaking wet and makeup that was…well…actually on her face for the breakup that was going to end her entire world. But there was something swirling in the pit of her stomach not unlike a small iron ball growing until it coated all her organs, so waiting wasn’t an option. 

“Fine,” Chloe huffed, spinning around. She was wearing a towel, which was being held up by Beca’s favorite navy blue bra, and her makeup was meticulously applied, though her hair was still thrown up into a bun. “I don’t know why you need me to do it right now, though,” she grumbled, making a twirling motion with her finger and reaching for the zipper of Beca’s dress. 

“Wha–No!” Beca said, spinning back around and nearly losing her dress in the process. “I mean, this. Do  _this_ ,” she was wagging her finger between the two of them. 

Chloe sighed, rolling her eyes. “I’m taking you to a nice dinner,” she said. She had turned to look back in the mirror again. “We can do  _that_ when I get food in me.” 

“Chloe,” Beca said, frustrated. Her voice cracked slightly, but it was enough to make Chloe turn, surprised and scared. “Just  _do_ it.” 

“Beca, I don’t…” 

“God,” Beca groaned. She moved over to the toilet, sitting on it and throwing her head into her hands. “Don’t make me break up with myself, Chlo!” 

“Break up? Beca…”

“It’s fine!” Beca started, her voice already trembling. “It’s  _totally_ fine. Expected really. Because you’re a…you’re a ten. And I’m a two. At the most. And it was only a matter of time. And I’m sure you’re going to say that it’s not me - but it  _is_  and I  _get_ it, and I really should start getting more dairy in my diet, and standing up to my boss, and reaching out to people more and — God, I’m a mess. The fact that you’ve stayed with me for so long is a–”

“Beca!” Chloe had moved to kneel in front of Beca, hands on the other girl’s knees. “Why the hell would I take you to the best restaurant in town on  _our anniversary_ to  _break up with you_?” 

“I don’t know!” Beca said, hands flying up in the air, “Because you like to make things special!” 

Chloe laughed, falling from her squat to sit on the tiled floor. She rested her head against the wall, letting it roll back and forth, all the while feeling Beca watch her anxiously. “I’m so dumb,” she finally muttered, shaking her head. 

“Stop it,” Beca said, “It’s not your fault you wasted two years with me. I, like, practically forced you to.”

“No,” Chloe said while laughing breathily, “God, Beca, just, like, chill. I’m not breaking up with you.” 

“I mean, it’s fine becau–What?” 

“I’m not,” Chloe said slowly. She was fiddling with the ends of her towel. “Breaking up with you.”

“But you’re….but you….” Beca started to wipe at her tears, still looking confused, “No, you’ve been acting weird all month.” 

Chloe sighed, glaring up at the ceiling. “Jesus Christ,” she said quietly, “I’m just so dumb.” 

“Stop saying that!” Beca said, slapping Chloe lightly on the shoulder, “Explain yourself, woman.” 

“Okay, okay,” Chloe said. She’d put her hands up, shielding off any further harsh reactions from her girlfriend. “Don’t laugh, though.” 

Beca bit her lip, watching the redhead nervously. “I will literally do anything you say if you’re still sure that you’re not breaking up with me right now.”

“No I’m not—” Chloe stopped herself, an eyebrow raising. Beca couldn’t help but think that she hadn’t seen that face in a long time. “Anything?” 

“Chlo,” Beca warned. She leaned forward. “Explanation, please?”

“Right, right. Okay,” Chloe sighed, preparing herself for the worst of reactions. “I kinda thought….that you….were planning on proposing….tonight.” 

“What?!” Beca reeled, her back falling against the back of the toilet seat. 

“I just….You were….” Chloe fiddled for the right words, “You were talking about it a few weeks ago, and I wasn’t sure but I thought like maybe it was the right time and then when these reservations were made I kinda…” 

“Why the fuck have you been acting so weird if you thought I was going to propose to you?” Beca spat out, looking at Chloe suspiciously. “Was it because you would turn me down? Because you want to break up? Oh my god, you  _are_ breaking up with m–”

“Beca!” Chloe literally snapped to get Beca’s attention. “No,” she said firmly. “I just got….I dunno, I guess I got panicked. I’m not really…ready for that.” 

Beca breathed out slowly, trying to get a hold of the track team of anxiety-thoughts she’d been acquiring lately. Each one was being squashed quickly, but they still seemed to be bouncing around in her stomach, not having gotten the memo. 

“Which isn’t to say I don’t want that,” Chloe said quickly, misreading Beca’s reaction. “Just, like, not now. Because….well….like….I want you to be sure, yunno? And not just like you want to do that because I want to do that. Because that’s not a good reason to get married, and I want it all to be perfect, and…just…yeah. I guess I started worrying. A lot.” Then, she breathed out, in the same way Beca had just moments ago, the hands that were fiddling on her towel stilling for a second as she watched all that she was worried about over the past few weeks disintegrate. “I really love you, Beca,” she said, her voice quiet. She leaned forward, squatting again to put her hands on Beca’s knees and lean in for a kiss. 

“I really love you too,” Beca said, her voice still pouty. Then, she reached out, slapping Chloe on the shoulder. 

“Ouch!” 

“That’s for making me think I was losing you,” Beca said sternly, a finger pointed in the other girl’s face. Then, she softened, kissing Chloe again. “And that’s for not actually breaking up with me.” 

“Mmm,” Chloe hummed, leaning in more, “You know, technically I don’t break up with you everyday.” 

“Oh, well, there needs to be  _some_ kind of reward for that,” Beca breathed, and Chloe laughed, pecking her once on the lips before standing up quickly. 

“Up,” she said, holding her hand out. “I’ve gotta zip you.” 

“That’s kinda the opposite of the point, Chloe,” Beca said, grinning, which earned  _her_ a slap on the shoulder. 

“The night’s still young, Mitchell,” she said, “So be a proper lady, or your fears might come true.” 

“Well in that case,” Beca said, “You better watch out. I might pop the question at any time. Oooooooo,” she wiggled her fingers like she had said something scary. Chloe laughed. “And here I thought  _I_ was the one with a fear of commitment.” 

“I’m not—” Chloe started, but thought better of herself. She started to walk out of the bathroom, tugging the towel out from under her bra straps. “Whatever. You have thirty minutes, Girlfriend.” 

“That’s fiancee to you!” Beca shouted back, earning an almost audible eye roll from the girl walking into their closet. 

“Shut up!” 


	183. The One with the Mattress Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT!!!! beca and chloe go mattress shopping and are being totally innocent until they notice an old couple being rude and homophobic from a distance, so they take it upon themselves to "try out" the beds in their usual positions and they just try to piss off the couple — sent by anonymous

“I don’t even get why we’re here,” Beca grumbled, allowing herself to be pulled by Chloe through the aisles of mattress. Chloe looked behind her, giggling. There was something about the combination of that department store scent and Beca’s incessant whining that made shopping a strangely fun experience for Chloe. It triggered that same part of Chloe that got glee when she had to teach her students how to do activities - a unique joy built into the knowledge that people are being patient because they want to understand, even if they don’t _want_ to want to understand. 

“Because,” Chloe said, checking the price tag of one of the mattresses, “Your back hurts, and our mattress is shot.” 

“It’s not even that bad,” Beca argued. Chloe, not satisfied by the mark-off, moved on, glaring over her shoulder.

“You practically found it on the side of the street,” she pointed out, which made Beca scoff incredulously. 

“It’s Jesse’s step-brothers. That’s hardly off the street.” 

“Becs,” Chloe said, spinning around, “He found it sitting in the driveway after Thanksgiving with the family.” 

“The driveway isn’t the street,” Beca mumbled, but Chloe just reached up, squeezing her cheeks in one hand. 

“You’re cute when you’re being a cheap old man,” she cooed. Beca scowled, which looked positively ridiculous with her face squished by Chloe. 

“D’not,” Beca said under Chloe’s hand. Chloe used her handle to pull Beca closer, pecking her sweetly on the lips. 

“Do too,” she said, laughing and moving her hands back to Beca’s. When she turned to start looking at the next set of mattresses, she saw two older people staring. It made her stop in her tracks, and Beca, not paying attention, ran into her back. 

“Chloeee?” Beca asked cautiously. Chloe held her hand up. 

“Does something seem weird to you?” Chloe asked by way of response.

“You mean other than you?” 

“Shh,” Chloe shot back, pointed slightly at the couple, who had progressed to glaring at them from the corner of their eyes. “What do you think they’re saying?” 

“Why does it matter, Chlo?” Beca asked, pinching the bridge of her nose. Chloe spun around, hair hitting Beca’s face.

“It matters because this is 2015,” she said, “And because I love you, and they’re dumb.” 

“You’re right,” Beca said placatingly. She had her hands on Chloe’s shoulders, and she squeezed them. “They’re dumb, so just ignore them.” 

“No that’s not—” Chloe stopped, a grin pulling up on her frustrated face. It made Beca wary, and she stepped back just enough for the one mattress on display to hit her in the knees, pushing her to sit. “I’ve got an idea,” Chloe said, her smirk pulling up at the edges as she stepped in between Beca’s legs and held her face in her hands. 

“Chloe, I don’t–”

“Shhh,” Chloe said for the second time during their outing, this time following through with a kiss. 

“Not here,” Beca said, glancing over her shoulder, but Chloe was already biting her lip, shaking her head. 

“Just enough to make a point,” she said in a whisper, “P _leas_ e.” 

Beca looked up at her worriedly, a crease forming between her eyebrows. 

“I know how much you like it when I beg.” 

Chloe knew what game she was playing - she always had been the winner of that particular sport since day one of their relationship - and there wasn’t much that got in her way when she wanted what she wanted when she wanted it. Or, at the very least, Beca wasn’t much ever in the mood to get in her way. Figuratively speaking. 

And Chloe was right - she only pushed Beca as far as was semi-appropriate for a very public mattress in the middle of a store. Still, pushing Beca at all was not entirely according to basic societal etiquette, and Beca hated every part of her that didn’t much care, because Chloe had pushed her backwards onto the bed and was kissing her softly, just enough to cause a scene but not enough to make Beca…cause  _more_ of a scene. 

So, at least there was that. 

From behind them, she could hear the older people get closer, their harsh words getting only a little louder before they turned to find the couple, and their words stopped altogether. 

What had been “I just don’t understand why they have to hold hands”, “It’s just not right, Will”, and “Well, I know where this country is headed, and it’s not to Mount Olympus, that’s for sure” became just one syncopated gasp, and Beca swore she heard the shopping basket that the woman was holding drop to the ground. 

“Make a sound,” Chloe grunted, and Beca looked up at her, surprised. “Go!” 

Beca resisted, because she didn’t see much of the point of all this in the first place, but then Chloe moved to her neck and it was just enough to draw a small noise from Beca’s throat, despite her trying to push it down. 

The result was a scoff from somewhere behind Chloe, and a muffled, “Come on, Will, let’s get out of here”, before Chloe sat up, a smug smile on her face. 

Beca, breathless, just looked at the redhead with bugged eyes. 

“There,” Chloe said, humming, “Problem solved.” 

“Hardly,” Beca breathed, her chest heaving, and Chloe laughed. “I think I like this mattress.” 

“Ahem,” they heard a gravelly voice from behind the headboard, “You better, because any fraternizing means you’ve got to buy it.” 

Chloe, still straddling Beca, leaned over to check the price tag, while Beca worked on controlling her blush and the weight of the employee’s glare on hers. She refused to even acknowledge him, hoping this was all some very weird fever dream. When Chloe sat back up, looking down at Beca, she had a sheepish smile on her face.

“So,” she said slowly, “We…have to buy this.” 

“Chloe,” Beca said slowly, warily, “How much is this fucking mattress?”

Chloe held her hands up, shrugging with a slight wince that would’ve been irritating on anyone who wasn’t her. “Oops?” 

 


	184. The One With Dayna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so it's my birthday tomorrow, and I have a request if that's okay. What if Chloe and Beca have a best friend called Dayna (that's me btw) who sets them up in the first place, and picks them up when they're drunk, and idk prompts Beca to ask Chloe to marry her? idk that would be cool xx — sent by stronger--than--you

There are certain people who work behind the scenes. People who slip in and out of the major events with their hands in their pockets and their hoods pulled up, so that those in the audience don’t ever see their face. They’re the puppet-masters, or something akin to that, because they pull the strings that keep the whole play moving along. 

Chloe had a penchant for finding these people. Like some kind of mother hen, she gathered them under her wing and led them around, never forcing them to come out from behind the curtain but instead choosing to visit them for a bit and show them what it was like to stand on the mainstage. That’s how she met Dayna, walking on her way to class one day and making the active decision to “struggle” with her backpack to garner the other girl’s attention and get her help. 

She got along with Beca too, because Beca was much more capable of standing behind the scenes with her, although she turned out to be less of a puppet-master and more of an accidentally-auditioned-for-the-play-and-got-the-lead. Regardless, Dayna was the string between the two women, and as was her job, she tugged at that connection until Beca sent her a text that said, “You’ll nevver believe what happened” at the same time that Chloe sent her a picture of Beca, hair bedraggled, smiling sleepily in the middle of her bed. 

Chloe had dubbed her “the fairy godmother”. 

“You made our dreams come true,” she said one night in the dining hall, snatching a bite of the fry Beca was holding up in her head and laughing at the eye roll the other girl sent her way. 

“I believe it’s turned our dreams into a reality,” Beca corrected, embarrassed that she remembered the line word for word until Chloe leaned over and blew a raspberry on her cheek. 

There was more - always more - because once the strings have been pulled someone needs to be there to make sure they don’t loosen. Which was why Dayna was always on speed dial when Beca and Chloe left her room on the weekends, just beginning to spiral of drunken nonsense that they’d tumble down over the course of the night. Chloe would wink, and Beca would shimmy just slightly - enough to show she was, at the very least, tipsy - and they would steal bits and pieces of Dayna’s wardrobe so that the perfect look was achieved before they left, giggling, only to call an hour and half later and considerably more drunk. Sometimes, it was a call just to make fake kissing noises into the phone, or to sing out the song that Dayna played for both of them a few hours before they got together. Most of the time, though, it was Beca making pouting noises until Dayna agreed that, yes, she’d come pick them up, and, yes, they could all watch a movie, and, yes, she’d make sure to have mozzarella sticks with her. 

It was only natural, then, that with every major step of their relationship, Dayna was the consultant. Through the tears and the moving and the summer’s spent apart, Dayna was on the other end of the texting conversation holding the strings tight. One night, Beca knocked on her door with shaking hands and tears forming quickly in her eyes. 

“What is it?” was all Dayna needed to say for the other girl to storm into her room, lying on the bed and huffing frustratedly. 

“I don’t know,” she said, “I don’t know. I feel something, and I don’t know what it is. It’s like….Dayna, I’m just….so…certain? I don’t know. I’m scared about how not scared I am. Chloe’s…it. She’s just it. She’s everything.” 

Which was enough to push Dayna to prompt just the right questions to carry Beca online, looking up rings and proposal ideas until she settled on something that would only work for her. Because Beca was certain - she was unbreaking, determined - and she needed someone to tell her that it was okay to not be afraid. To be afraid of not being afraid. And Dayna was that for her. 

When Chloe said yes, and Dayna waited by her phone for an answer from the two of them - not nervously, necessarily, because she knew what the answer would be - she felt like she was watching the show play out for the thousandth time, and she found herself loving it just as much as the dress rehearsal. 

The text she finally got, at the end of it all, was, “Well, I hope we can split you in half, because I don’t know how the hell we’re going to divvy up this maid of honor bullshit”, followed by a “Ignore the vulgar language, my fiancee doesn’t know the value of being lady-like”. 


	185. The One WIth the Lost Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily loses Chloes yellow cup and Beca says she'll take the blame and when Chloe goes off on Beca Emily feels really guilty. Later Emily confesses to Chloe that she lost it and not Beca, Chloe gives Beca a huge apology for the tantrum she threw earlier. — sent by bechloe-af

Beca was a sucker for pouty faces. Well, to be more specific, Beca was a sucker for two people’s pouty faces in particular, mostly because Chloe and Emily had an innate ability to contort their faces into the most innocent, soul-crushing mask of sadness a human could manage, and it tugged at the heartstrings that Beca tried to pretend like weren’t ever there. 

So when Chloe came home with a slam of the door and a huff at the rain that was pouring outside, Emily looked at Beca from over the couch that she’d been tearing apart in an attempt to find the cup she’d lost, and Beca actually groaned. Because she knew that there was no chance at resistance, and because Emily looked just about as scared as a kitten who’d fallen trying to climb onto the counter. 

“What’s happening here?” Chloe asked when she came into the living room, noting the way the pillows were all thrown off the couches and Emily was currently trying to pull herself to standing position and look natural. The younger girl smiled uneasily, squeaking once or twice by way of answer, and while that was the most suspicious thing she could do, it  _was_ Emily, so the sounds weren’t exactly unexpected. Thus, Chloe spun around, facing Beca with a question on her lips. 

“Yeah, um,” Beca started, staring over Chloe’s shoulder at Emily, who was gesturing wildly for her to keep her mouth shut. “Listen, Chlo, could you, like, sit for a sec?” 

“Where at?” Chloe asked pointedly, staring at the couch cushions confusedly. Beca sighed, taking Chloe’s hand and leading her into the kitchen. “You’re scaring me, Becs.” 

“There’s no….” Beca started, “That’s not….It’s, like, totally not a big deal.” 

“You’re making it seem like one,” Chloe argued, and Beca let out a puff of breath. 

“Don’t kill me,” Beca said. “Just, like, remember that one time we sang in the shower and you were so happy and proud and I was really nude and just like remember that? Okay. Keep that in mind. The one of me, defenseless and adorable and totally unworthy of scorn.” 

“Becs…”

“I lost your cup,” Beca said, the rush of words coming out in one breath. Her eyes were closed while she said it, but she could hear the joint gasp coming from Emily and Chloe together. 

“That’s no–” Emily started, but Beca held her hand up. 

“Not entirely true, right, Em,” Beca picked up, “Because it’s not lost. Because we’re going to find it.” 

“You lost,” Chloe said, pausing for effect, “My yellow cup.” 

Beca met Chloe’s stare and gulped. “Maybe, yeah.” 

“You  _lost_ ,” Chloe repeated, “My yellow cup?!” 

“Mmhhmmm.” 

“You  ** _lost–”_**

“Okay, Chlo, there’s no need to–”

“Beca, do you even know what this means?! That’s my lucky effing cup, Beca. MY. LUCKY. CUP. And you just lost it?  _Do you even care about my overall well-being?”_

When Chloe got angry, the result was normally some combination of a squeakily high voice, tears in her eyes, and a face almost as red as her hair. And while the whole act would be entirely too adorable for any layperson to handle, being the target of those emotions was, well, overwhelming to say the least. Beca never really got used to the disappointment that crossed over Chloe’s features when she was mad. 

So she stood there, letting Chloe rail against her for more than few minutes, wincing only occasionally and biting her tongue to make any part of the situation worse. By the end of it, she was outside, on the front porch, having slammed to door in an effort to feel a little satisfied after being passive for so long. She thought getting out of the house would help - help whom? Beca wasn’t sure. Only, without a coat, car keys, or a phone, there wasn’t a lot of places she could go, so she settled for walking around the neighborhood, playing soccer with a pebble she found along the way. 

It was dark before she made it back home, smelling like outside and tired above all else. She almost forgot why she was outside in the first place. 

When she walked into the house, the living room greeted her silently. She moved through it with caution, hand on the wall and eyes alert for anything that might be outside of the usual - in particular, a crying redhead in the center of the floor. Nothing was found, though the strong scent of cookies was wafting from the kitchen, and Beca had found herself subconsciously walking towards it while she examined the place. 

She made her way into the kitchen, and Chloe was sitting at the counter, staring down a plate of cookies with her lower lip trembling. 

“Chlo?” 

The redhead looked up at her, eyes wet with tears, and it was that simple word that made her break into tears. “I’m so sorry,” she said, waving her hands around, “That was so dumb of me. And it wasn’t even you!” 

“What?”

“The cup,” Chloe explained, taking one of the cookies she’d made for Beca and shoving it into her mouth. With crumbs falling out, she continued. “You didn’t lose it, and I got so mad, and I’m so sorry, Becs, I’m–”

“Shhh,” Beca rushed to stand next to Chloe, a hand on her shoulder. “Okay, you’re okay. It’s fine.” 

“No but—”

“Chloe,” Beca said, pulling back enough to look Chloe in the eyes. She was grinning, trying to transfer the smile onto Chloe’s face through telepathy. “You’re ridiculous. And dramatic. And it’s fine. So please pass the cookies before I starve to death.” 

“They’re oatmeal,” Chloe said helplessly, pulling the cookies toward them. 

“What?!” Beca squealed, “Oatmeal?! Are you  _trying_ to kill me???? _”_


	186. The One With the Hammock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please do one based on this post "Hi friends just here to remind you not to imagine your otp on a hammock together. Don’t imagine Person B is asleep on Person A’s chest and definitely don’t imagine Person A with one foot on the floor so they can rock the hammock in hopes of keeping Person B asleep" With Beca being person B and Chloe being A! That would be tots adorbs!!! — sent by naynaywarbler

Beca never slept. 

Okay, well, that wasn’t entirely true. Because Beca had a tendency to sleep for three days in a row, non-stop and growling whenever anyone interrupted her, only to spend the rest of the week working off of fifteen minute naps here and there. 

Chloe assumed that there was something permanently wrong with her circadian rhythm. But she also knew how Beca operated, and could recognize that, at least in social situations, there was a vulnerability to sleeping that Beca didn’t like to indulge in. And, given that ninety nine percent of the Bella’s extra bonding time was spent with sleepovers on the floor of the living room, it made more than a little bit of sense why walls-permanently-up-Beca-Mitchell wasn’t quick to drift into sleep world. 

Which was why whenever Chloe noticed Beca drifting off, she would do everything in her power to keep her asleep. Even if it meant losing circulation in her arm to the point of worrying about amputation. Or watching hours worth of infomercials because Beca was sitting on the remote. 

So, curled into the hammock with the breeze that comes at the end of the summer, Chloe looked cautiously down at Beca, who was snuggled against her chest. It wasn’t the most easy task in the world to get the girl to get into the hammock in the first place. 

“It’s hardly stable,” she had said, staring at the network of strings between the trees. “You put this up yourself?” 

“I resent that!” Chloe argued, sitting carefully on the hammock and patting it. “I am very handy.” 

“Oh I’ll bet,” Beca grunted with a momentary smirk before Chloe raised her eyebrows at her. “Regardless, no. Hammocks weren’t built for two. And I can’t exactly relax worrying about falling twenty four seven.” 

“Hmmm,” Chloe hummed, stretching out on the hammock. “It’s fine, I mean, I’m sure everyone gets PTSD from falling out of a bear trap. It’s totally cool if you’re scared of these things now.” 

“I’m not…” Beca started, frustrated. She looked back towards the house, considering. “I’m not scared,” she said, quieter and less certain. Chloe giggled. 

“Come on,” Chloe said, “You can lie, like,  _on_ me. I’ll cushion you if you fall.” 

“Reassuring,” Beca grumbled, but she was already making moves to sit on the hammock, reaching hesitantly out towards it and putting her knee on the edge. The resulting action was her accidentally straddling Chloe before simply collapsing on the redhead with an “oomph” and a not so casual rock of the hammock. Chloe reached up, smoothing the line that had formed between Beca’s eyebrows.

“Chill,” she said. “I got you.” 

“What’re we even supposed to do?” Beca said under her breath, twisting her arm to be around Chloe. “Our range of motion is limited.” 

Chloe laughed. “Relax, you goof,” she said, “You’re  _supposed_ to relax.” 

Beca tutted disapprovingly, but it was followed by a sigh and another snuggle into Chloe’s chest. Within five minutes, her breathing slowed. 

“Beca?” Chloe asked, looking down at the other girl, who’s eyes had fallen shut. “Are you asleep?” 

The lack of response was enough of an answer, and Chloe smiled triumphantly, reaching up to pat Beca lightly on the head. She started humming then, almost unaware of the action, and saw the way Beca smiled in her sleep while she did it. 

And, sure, Chloe’s efforts to make sure Beca slept  _were_ based largely in concern for her health. But it did have a little bit to do with the fact that Beca sleeping was a completely different Beca altogether. She was soft where she was normally hard, smooth where she was normally crinkled. There was a lightness to the muscles on her face, like they were grateful for being given a break from her frowns of concentration, and, most of the time, a smile sat at the corners of her lips, so that Chloe could see for herself what a content Beca looked like without interruption. 

She was beautiful - of course, both when she was awake and when she was asleep, but this was…this was an entirely different beauty than the intensity that she normally wore on her face. Chloe liked it - sought it out as frequently as possible - because Beca was warm when she slept and worked as a kind of automatic muscle relaxer for the redhead. Everything slowed when Beca smoothed out, moving to a speed that was finally one Chloe could handle, just fast enough to be able to hear the birds and the bugs and all of the music that she normally ignored. 

Slowly, she started lifting and lowering her heel, so that the hammock rocked back and forth. She thought it matched the rhythm of nature, which seemed to be pulsing to the beat of the arm that was wrapped around her. It smelled like outside, but also like Beca’s shampoo, and Chloe thought briefly that if that smell could be bottled, she’d buy every version at every store without consideration of funds. 

She sighed, resting her cheek on Beca’s head. “Sleep tight, lil’ one,” she said, allowing her eyes to close too. 

The response was grumbled, sleepy and hardly coherent but still loud enough for Chloe to hear. 

“Who’re you calling little?” 


	187. The One With the Package

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you do a bechloe mini fic for the prompt "The postal worker delivered your package to my place accidentally and I was expecting something so I totally didn’t look before I opened it and… wow that is um… quite an interesting thing you bought and I’m here to return it" please? — sent by anonymous

Admittedly, she didn’t know what she expected. Or, rather,  _who_ she expected. 

But, suffice to say, the woman who answered the door was  _not_ anywhere near someone she could’ve predicted. She was smiling wide with a strange tint of familiarity that made Beca almost uncomfortable, though her eyebrows were furrowed in confusion. 

Additionally, as a miniscule side note, she was…kinda…possibly…the most beautiful woman Beca had ever seen. Blue eyes that were straight out of a Disney movie, and hair that was falling out of her messy bun in the perfect ringlets of red curls. She was…kinda….possibly…the most beautiful woman Beca had ever seen. 

And so, Beca was staring. Or, more accurately,  _gaping._

 _“_ Can I help you?” the woman asked, a smirk poking through the edges of her mouth. Her voice was enough to knock Beca back into consciousness, causing her to blink and shake her head. 

It was then that she became acutely aware of the package in her hands. 

Err. The box. Not the package. Like, the  _postal box._ Just to be clear. 

She almost dropped it when she looked down to see it still in her hands, but fought that urge by trying to put a face on that even remotely resembled casualness. 

“Heyyyy,” she said, stretching the word out and bending her knees slightly to emphasize it. “This is….I mean, well. I’m Beca. I live down the hall.” 

Shifting the box into one arm, she gestured toward the door, but the other woman’s eyes didn’t follow. 

“I’m Chloe,” the woman said, holding her hand out now that Beca freed hers. “I live…here.” 

“Right,” Beca said quickly, letting out an uncomfortable laugh and wincing when she heard Chloe’s weak responding chuckle. 

“Um…” Chloe said, biting the inside of her cheek and asking the necessary questions with one look. 

“Oh,” Beca jumped slightly, holding out the box. “This is…It’s…Um…it was delivered to me. But. Um. It’s yours.” 

“Ohhh,” Chloe said, finally letting comprehension ease into her voice. She took the box, examining it. “Thanks.” 

“Mmmhmmm,” Beca said, half-sigh half-hum. She stood there for a few unnecessary moments, bouncing on her heels as Chloe watched her with her lip bitten. Then, she realized what she’d done, and jumped again. “I’m….I’m gonna go. Right. Yeah. Just gonna…” With an awkward hand pointing back towards her door, Beca spun around and moved to walk, but she heard Chloe’s voice pulling her back. 

“You know, it’s a federal offence to open people’s mail,” she shouted from behind Beca, the smirk even audible at this point. Beca closed her eyes, lowering her head and wincing. 

“I thought it was mine,” Beca said, turning back around to see Chloe standing smugly against her door frame. “Well, like, not  _mine._ Like…I thought that it was mail for me.” 

“Right,” Chloe hummed, nodding up and down knowingly. “Did you like what you saw?” 

Beca’s eyes bugged out of her head, which only made Chloe respond with all-out laughter. 

“Relax, I’m only joking,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Thanks for…delivering it to me. And, like, introducing yourself. Knowing my neighbors is probably handy.” 

Beca winced, and Chloe chuckled. “Poor word choice,” she admitted, moving to hold the door knob. “Or…maybe not?”

“Dude,” Beca breathed, and Chloe laughed again. 

“You’re funny,” she said between giggles. She was already halfway back inside her apartment, though Beca was almost wishing she didn’t have to leave. Despite the fact that her cheeks were a bright shade of red - which, well, Beca never did well with. “See you around, Beca?” 

“Yeah,” Beca sighed. She was walking backwards, hardly breaking eye contact. “Yeah, for sure.” 


	188. The One With Chloe and Jesse Bro-ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca hasn't been picking up on any of the hints that Chloe has been dropping so she goes to Jesse for Beca-advice (which is totes okay cause they're all friends now). One day Beca sees Chloe and Jesse hanging out and is like "what the hell...?" And you can take it from there. THANKS I LOVE YOU A LOT — sent by anonymous

It wasn’t weird. I mean, sure, it was  _at first_ , because how could it not be? Chloe’s mind had a tendency to wander, and if she focused hard enough on the door she was knocking on, she got unwanted pictures of Beca and that door and the boy behind it and….

Yeah, no, but  _totally_ not weird. Not at all. 

At the very least, Jesse was Jesse. Kind and friendly and willing to help anyone out - frankly, almost excited about the whole thing, considering he’d spent half of his relationship with Beca shipping her and Chloe in the first place (a fact that he’d hesitantly and embarrassingly admitted on their third coffee/advice outing). Most of all, though, he knew Beca in a way that Chloe inherently didn’t. 

Not  _that_ way. Come on. Chloe  _had_ already seen Beca naked, to be fair. 

No. He knew the romantic part of Beca. The part of Beca that could do relationships, and (occasional) PDA, and big grand movie ending gestures. So when all of the hints Chloe threw Beca’s way weren’t doing shit, she turned to Jesse. 

And it was totally not weird at all. 

“I dunno, man,” Jesse said, passing her a packet of fruit snacks. “I think being blunt is, like, how I got the girl.” 

“You got the girl by badgering her constantly,” Chloe countered. She squeezed the fruit snack between her fingers before popping it into her mouth. “I prefer a much more subtle approach.” 

“Yeah, and where has that gotten you?” Jesse joked, raising an eyebrow. “Because last I checked, Beca kissed  _me_ at the finals.”

“Ey!” Chloe jumped up, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. “Rule number one: don’t bring up you and her and–”

“Lip-touching, amongst other things,” Jesse finished, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m just making a point.” 

“Yeah but i–”

“Chloe?” Beca’s voice came from behind the couple, filled with confusion and a twinge of panic. 

“Becs!” Chloe said, a bit too enthusiastically. “Hey! What’s up?” 

“What’s up with you?” Beca said, looking pointedly at Jesse and her. 

“What’d you mean?” 

“Since when do you and Jesse hang out?” Beca asked, “Alone?” 

“Since…” Chloe started, looking at Jesse, who was grinning wildly. 

“Since Chloe’s got this Russian lit paper on one of the best Russian films of all time. It’s about a man who–” 

“Gross,” Beca interrupted Jesse, holding a hand up. “No one cares.” 

Jesse clutched his chest, pretending being hurt. “I am personally offended.” 

Sticking out her tongue, Beca made a noise. “You should be,” she sang. 

“Whatever,” Jesse answered back, squatting to stand. “I’ve gotta hit the road anyway. TAing intro to music theory. See you later, Chlo?”

Chloe hummed, nodding in response as Beca gaped at the two of them, confused and shocked. The minute Jesse turned around, Beca scooted to where he was sitting. 

“Chlo?” she mimicked, her voice questioning. “What the hell?” 

“What the hell, what?” Chloe said, brushing off the question. “He’s my friend too.” 

“Uh, no he’s not,” Beca argued. It was, to be fair, pretty true. Chloe always approached Jesse with the kind of politeness that a mother would give to her son-in-law. Which, okay, was a weird analogy for this moment. But regardless, there was always a polite formality to Chloe’s previous interactions with the boy. A thing which may or may not be because she was unwittingly pining after Beca since the paradigm-shifting moment at the activities fair. “Oh my God,” Beca started, gasping. “Oh shit. Are you two like…” she raised her eyebrows to finish the sentiment. It took Chloe a second to understand, and when she did, she gasped. 

“No!” she said quickly. “Oh God, no. No. We were just, like, chatting about acapella stuff.” 

“He said you were chatting about Russian film,” Beca countered, her eyes narrowing on Chloe. The redhead laughed uneasily. 

“Well yeah, it was a mix of the two.” 

“Holy fuck,” Beca said. She reached out for the empty fruit snack packet. “You’re totally hooking up!” 

“Beca! No!” Chloe said quickly, hating the way her voice sounded almost offended by the idea. “No no no no.” 

“Then what?” Beca said. She threw the fruit snacks to the ground, fixing a steely gaze on Chloe. “And don’t give me a shitty excuse. Because I’m learning very quickly that you suck ass at lying.”

“I am very good a ly–”

“Chloe,” Beca cautioned, “Explain.” 

“You know, you’d be a really good teacher. Or, like, mom or something. With that voice and all,” Chloe said weakly, already wincing at the response she knew was coming. 

“Chloe!” she exhaled, “Come on!”

“Okay!” Chloe said, holding her hands up. “Okay okay.” 

The redhead paused to take a breath and steady herself. In her mind, she heard Jesse’s words bouncing around in her head. Beca was blunt. Jesse was blunt. She could be…blunt. 

Yeah. 

All it took was a breath and then a slew of words and this game of questions and winking and tricks of the light would be over. It all would be over. And in it’s place could be something…a lot better. 

“He’s helping me with something,” Chloe started. Beca began to tell her that that wasn’t good enough, but she held her hand up. “He’s helping me with you.” 

“With me? I don’t–”

“He’s helping me,” Chloe continued. Her eyes were closed, but she opened them and saw Beca on the other side of her stare. “ _Get_ you. Or try to, at least. The getting part is, like, totally your decision.” 

It took three breaths for Beca to respond. Three impossibly long breaths, during which Chloe thought she might have a heart attack, or something of the like. Beca needed to process. She always needed to process. Only that was seeming to be incredibly inconvenient right about now. 

“Getting me,” Beca finally repeated, nodding slowly. “Like, having me. Like…as in…with kissing and loving and stuff.” 

Despite herself, Chloe chuckled. “Yeah,” she started, “Well, yeah except for all the weird possessiveness that that implies. But, um, yeah for the kissing. And stuff. If you wanted.” 

“Right,” Beca said slowly. “Right, um,” she swallowed slowly, raising a hand to her head and scratching. “Right.” 

“Beca?” Chloe said, reaching out for the hand on Beca’s forehead and taking it into her own. “It’s not how I wanted to tell you…”

“It’s….” Beca breathed out, shaking her head. “It’s fine.” 

“Fine,” Chloe repeated. 

“Better than fine,” Beca said, her voice only slightly steadier. She lifted her gaze to Chloe, looking for something there. Whatever it was, she seemed to have found it, putting a hand on the back of Chloe’s neck and pulling her in. 

And, yeah, this was  _actually_ not weird. 

Not weird at all. 

Just….really. Really. Nice. 

If “nice” was the right word for this. 


	189. The One With Rocky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bechloe prompt: Beca and Chloe decided to go on a hike with Jesse and Aubrey. The latter decided to bring their puggle Rocky along with them. Chloe finds Rocky really cute and tries to convince Beca that they should have a dog as well. — sent by anonymous

The two weren’t even out of the car before Beca caught sight of the dog across the lot - the presence of which made Chloe squeal excitedly. “No,” she said sternly, holding a finger in Chloe’s face, “Don’t even think about it.”

“Think about what?” Chloe asked innocently, holding her hands up. “I have  _no_ idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Bull,” Beca muttered, “If that dog is gonna make you hound me again then I…” 

“Man, you made a pun and you didn’t even acknowledge it?” Jesse’s voice came from behind them, and Beca turned to see him. “I thought I taught you better, Becs.” 

“They say you’re only as good as your teacher,” Beca joked. Jesse pulled her into a hug, ending in a prompt nougie that made Beca squirm away. Aubrey walked up then, toting the puggle along and not acting the least bit surprised when Chloe dropped to say hi to the dog before her. 

“So, what, I’ve just become the ‘dog owner’ for you?” Aubrey asked when Chloe stopped cooing at the animal. The redhead looked up, a grin wide on her face. 

“I mean,” she started, “The ol’ wife here won’t allow it so I’ve gotta exploit  _some_ friendships.” 

“The ol’ wife here is allergic,” Beca fought, wrapping an arm around Chloe. “You’ve already gotten me to go hiking, so let’s not push it, eh?” 

“Eh,” Chloe said in a mocking tone, sticking her tongue out. 

It wasn’t the first complaint Beca made about the whole hiking thing. In fact, all weekend she’d been begging her girlfriend to pick some different activity. She was even willing to go to the mall if it meant getting out of quality time with nature. It was, apparently, not enough. 

So, logistically, she spent majority of the hike complaining too. About the bees, and the bugs, and the way that the air smelled. 

“It’s fresh, Becs,” Chloe explained, but Beca only wiggled her nose. 

“There’s something weird about it,” she said by way of response. 

Then, of course, there was the general coordination issue. Which meant that Beca’s knees were not only covered in dirt and scratches from various plants, but more than a few cuts too. Not to mention Aubrey and Chloe’s ridiculous cardio abilities putting both Beca and Jesse to shame. Really, it became more of a “Aubrey and Chloe go for a hike and Beca and Jesse Watch Whilst Maybe Dying” than it was a “Nature Walk”. 

At least, though, there was Rocky. 

Okay, so, Beca wasn’t the biggest fan of animals. Or, actually, wasn’t the biggest fan of animals who weren’t the biggest fan of her. Or, actually, wasn’t the biggest fan of Aubrey Posen’s pet. Who wasn’t a big fan of her. She swore that the blonde had used pictures of her to train her dog in various negative ways, but that theory had yet to be proven. Still, she liked to watch him. When she was at a distance. 

More accurately, she liked to watch Chloe with him. Her eyes never left the dog when they walked, and occasionally, when the little guy seemed to be struggling against the leash, she would talk Aubrey into stopping so she could “give him some cuddles” - something she wouldn’t even do for Beca, if the amount of breathlessness Beca was experiencing was any indication. 

Chloe was bright, radiant really, but when she was with a creature that could match her in lightness….it was almost unbearable. 

I mean, it was distracting. To Beca, at least, who was currently falling down yet  _another_ ravine thanks to her mind’s ability to wax poetic about a dog and a certain acapella crazy lady. 

“Beca,” Chloe said, running down at a cautious pace once Beca stopped rolling, “Are you okay?” 

“Hardly,” Beca grumbled, standing up and wiping the leaves off of her shorts. Behind Chloe, Rocky ran, barking all the while until he reached the brunette. Expecting violence, Beca braced herself with eyes closed and a wince covering her face. The dog, though, stopped when he reached her, moving to lick the dirt off her legs. 

“Awww,” Chloe said, bending down to pet the dog. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” 

“I almost  _died_ ,” Beca spat. 

“But you didn’t,” Chloe answered, “And he just wants twoooo hewwwwlp.” 

Beca rolled her eyes at the baby voice, trying her best to hide her smile. 

“Come on, Becs,” Chloe said, “We could have one of our own…A little guy to always clean you up when you fall?” 

“Not a chance,” Beca said sharply, moving to walk back on the path. “I’ve already got you anyway.” 

“Beca,” Chloe said again, her voice stern this time. The brunette turned around, finding Chloe closer than she expected. “P _leas_ e.” 

And here’s the thing about Chloe Beale. With the right curve of her mouth and the right wideness to her eyes, that girl could get everything she wanted. Which was fine, really, and almost not completely annoying, only that she  _knew_ she had that power. 

Beca was waiting for this. Wasn’t sure, actually, why Chloe didn’t pull it out earlier on, in the weeks that this begging had started to build up. She supposed that Chloe wanted it to be Beca’s decision too. Or something. Maybe. 

Or she just got an extra pleasure out of making Beca give into her wishes in public, particularly when her ex-boyfriend and ex-nemesis were watching. 

That was probably it. 

Regardless, she was running a hand lightly up and down Beca’s arm, batting her eyelashes like she knew exactly what was happening in Beca’s mind. All the while, Rocky sat at her feet obediently, as if to prove a point. He barked once, catching Beca’s attention and - she  _swore_ \- he smiled at her. Actually smiled. (Or she’d hit her head on that fall down the ravine). 

“Please what?” Beca asked, her voice monotone and her eyes closed. Chloe’s trailing finger became a squeeze. It was accompanied by an excited squeak. 

“Please can we get a dog? Please please pretty please with a cherry on top?” 

“God,” Beca groaned, looking up at the canopy of trees. She was already getting a sunburn, she could feel it. Then again, the burning stares on her back weren’t helping. “You’re…impossible.” 

Chloe squealed, pulling Beca closer. “That’s a yes, right?” she said, “That’s  _totally_ a yes.” 

“I’ll stop by the shelter tomorrow,” Beca grumbled, “But it’s my choice.” 

“I know,” Chloe said. It was part of their unspoken agreement. A universal understanding that even hypnotized, Beca was in control. “Totally.” 

So excited, Chloe pressed her forehead against Beca’s. “Rocky’s gonna have a cousin!” 

“Ugh,” Beca groaned, hearing Aubrey and Jesse laugh behind her. “You are going to ruin me.” 


	190. The One With EVERYBODY IN THE POOL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> have you written a minific set after the "EVERYBODY IN THE POOOOL" incident? because you know it was beca's job to fish chloe out and warm her up/dry her off, obviously. (and if you haven't then it would be v cool if you did but no presh) — sent by gayforannak

She wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this. 

Something which, apparently, she did not have in common with Chloe, who was currently doggy-paddling through the pool despite the limited amounts of enthusiasm she received from the crowd. 

“Chlo, come on,” she tried again, beckoning the redhead with her hand. She was kneeling over the pool, holding her arm out, and she swore to God, if anyone had the poor humor to push her in right now….there would be hell to pay. 

She guessed there  _was_ an advantage to stay in one place for an extended period of time without fleeing. People got to know you well enough to not mess with you. 

“Mmmmmm no,” Chloe said determinedly, smacking her lips and scooting just out of Beca’s reach with a smirk on her face. “Come in here.” 

“Chloe, we can swim tomorrow,” she said. “When there’s sun. And suits. And…less intoxication.” 

“No!” Chloe fought. She was sinking under the water enough so that just her eyes were peeking out over the water, blowing bubbles all the while. The blue was emphasized by the color of her eyes, but the drunk grin on her face was infectious. Beca thought, for a fraction of a second, that if anyone was a siren in another life, it was Chloe. 

“Okay, you know what?” Beca said, standing up and untucking her tank top. Rolling the shirt up as she talked, she reached, in nothing but her bra, for another cup of cheap beer. “You better thank me tomorrow.” 

“Mmmmm,” Chloe giggled as Beca slipped out of her jeans, “I could thank you tonight.” 

“What?” Beca sighed, exasperated, but Chloe just responded with a quaint “Nothing”. 

Beca jumped in without much fanfare, penciling into the deep end with eyes closed and nose plugged. She hardly made a splash when she hit the water, and most people were distracted by whatever song was playing for it to really make a scene. Before she was even able to fully reach the surface, Chloe’s arms were around her waist. 

“We should play sharks and minnows,” Chloe sighed, and Beca pried her arms from her waist. They were warm where the water was cold, and her skin was so pale it was blue-green under the water. 

“There’s two of us,” Beca pointed out, “And we’re getting out.” 

Chloe pouted before turning Beca around, wrapping her legs around Beca and holding onto her back. Holding up her weight  _with_ Chloe’s weight packed onto her back made it nearly impossible to keep up, so Beca plunged underwater, kicking out from behind her to get to the shallow end, where the piggy-back-ride was much more manageable. 

“Aca-lesbians in the pool!” Amy shouted, which resulted in a few Bellas cheering and a limited number of sexually confused Trebles letting out whoops and hollers. 

“Shut up,” Beca grunted, though people were hardly paying attention to her, and her voice was quiet anyway. She tried to turn under Chloe’s grasp, so as to face her, but the redhead’s grip was made of steel. “Chloe,” she said slowly, “Come on. Out.” 

“Fine,” Chloe mumbled, resting her head on Beca’s shoulder and not making any actions to move. Beca sighed, taking Chloe’s hands carefully and shifting her off before guiding her up the steps and out of the pool. 

She was standing in the center of the party, soaking wet and mostly nude, and was  _definitely_ not drunk enough for this. 

The only bright side was that Chloe had seemed to make it her personal mission to hide Beca’s body from the general public, given that she was currently wrapped around Beca. 

From behind them, Stacie tapped Beca lightly on the shoulder, holding out a towel with a face that was half-grin, half-judgment. Or…about 75% judgment. Roughly. 

“Thanks,” Beca grunted, taking the towel and wrapping it around herself before Chloe slipped in with her, snuggling into her collarbone. 

“Inside,” Chloe cooed, her arms still wrapped around Beca’s waist, “Cold.” 

“Yes,” Beca said, softening her harsh attitude slightly at the feeling of Chloe snuggling. Sleepy Chloe came hot on the heels of Poor Decision-Making Chloe, and just happened to be precisely why Beca was willing to deal with Poor Decision-Making Chloe ninety percent of the time. She led Chloe into the house, which was significantly quieter than outside, even as the party was dying out. Beca scooted out of the towel, ignoring the goosebumps rising up her bare arms and taking the towel to fluff out the water from Chloe’s clothes. The redhead’s eyes were closed slightly, though she was smiling softly and sleepily, so Beca just started to unbutton the redhead’s shirt, tugging it off her shoulders. 

“Ooooh,” Chloe cooed, which made Beca roll her eyes despite the blush. 

“No funny business,” Beca cautioned, but Chloe already let her arms weaken, leaning on Beca until she was face first in Beca’s shoulders. 

“You smell good,” Chloe said quietly. 

“I smell like chlorine,” Beca answered. Chloe hummed contentedly in response, and before long, she was out of her clothes and slumped on the living room couch. Beca, too tired to care much about the situation at hand, just followed Chloe’s form, letting the redhead wrap herself around Beca and snuggle into her back. “We’re in an all guy house. In the living room. Almost nude,” Beca grumbled. Chloe giggled sleepily. 

“S’fun,” she said mindlessly, squeezing Beca tighter. “Beca?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for swimming with me,” she said, humming. “My little mermaid.” 

Beca grunted, shifting slightly. “M’not little.” 

Chloe chuckled. “Okayyyyyy.” 


	191. The "Up in the Air" Re-write

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bechloe version off up in the air, beca needs to get chloe fired and what happens after that if up to you — sent by anonymous

“Beca was ready for this. 

Or, at the very least, she’d force herself to be ready for this. She was good at that - pretending to be prepared for whatever she had to face so as to convince herself that she was, in fact, capable of handling the following series of events. It’s how she first jumped off the high board at her father’s community pool in fifth grade, and it’s how she managed to get a 4 on her AP History exam despite skipping most of the classes in favor of mixing in some corner of the bathroom. 

So, even if she wasn’t ready for this, she  _was_ ready for this. 

From the windows of the room, she saw the other woman walk into the adjacent meeting room. She was medium height, slight build, with red hair that was curled perfectly around her face, which Beca couldn’t quite catch from this angle. She swallowed, and turned on the computer screen. 

It was then that she saw the other woman’s face, or, rather, her eyes, which were impossibly blue even across the distorted pixels of the screen. She was biting her lip, trying very obviously to hide her nervousness. Beca had to admit: she wasn’t what she’d expected. Wasn’t, really, what she’d prepared for. 

“My name is Ms. Mitchell,” Beca started, keeping her voice steady. “And I’m here today to talk about your options.” 

“You’re doing this now?” the woman said. Her voice was high. Sweet, like a sugar that got stuck on your throat. “Right now? Over a computer screen? Is this really…” she paused, looking up at the ceiling. “Is this really what you think I deserve?” 

Beca took a deep breath. Her finger was tapping a beat against the table, because it was enough to keep her cemented to her purpose. The woman on the screen looked like every girl that Beca had always despised in high school, parked into the square cubicles of an office because what was once her glory years became just pale gray and prayers for a husband. She focused on that. She breathed in the memories of headphones being flung across the courtyard, and tried to breath out the images of college kindnesses and fliers offered with sweet faces. Because those whom she despised in high school, she hated to admire in college, sneaking into the back row of corny acapella performances and feeling the way their mashups could’ve been improved with just the slight undertones of Beca’s style. This woman was none of those women. This woman was not a woman at all, but a job for her to finish. 

“It’s normal to be upset,” Beca started again, “However, the sooner you can tell yourself that greater opportunities lie ahead the sooner–”

“Greater opportunities?” the woman interrupted. “What was your name?” 

“Be….Mitchell. Ms. Mitchell,” Beca felt herself melting under the gaze of her boss. 

“Ms. Mitchell,” the woman said, “It took me seven years to graduate college. I’m living with my mom off a diet of Franzia she needs to finish off and 90 calorie yogurts. Do you really believe that me and greater opportunities go together?” 

Her voice was breaking. Not with emotion, but with some kind of desperation. With some kind of begging that Beca tell her yes. Yes she can have more. 

“Anybody who ever…built an empire or changed the world sat where you are now,” Beca repeated, line for line, as her boss mouthed out the words with her. She thought, briefly, that the other woman could tell how scripted it was. “And it’s because they sat there that they were able to do it.” 

The other woman’s lip started to tremble. Beca watched it, hating herself for not being able to tear her eyes away. “There’s a packet in front of you. I want you to take some time and review it….The sooner you trust the process, the sooner the next stage of your life will unveil itself.” 

The woman didn’t move. Over the speakers, Beca could hear her crying. She thought, momentarily, about how terrible invasive it was to be able to hear someone cry on loudspeakers. It hurt. Physically. 

“I need you to go back to your office and unpack your things.” 

Still, no response. Beca forced herself to look away, eyes focused on the ceiling to get rid of that lump starting to form in her throat. When she looked back at the screen, the woman was holding her chest. 

“Ms. Beale,” she said, reading the name off of the sheet. “That’s all we can discuss now.” Then, when the woman made no moves, “Ms. Beale….”

The redhead’s breathing was shallow, though she was making no real noise, but Beca felt like it was enough to shake the wall separating them. She watched the corner of her screen as minutes ticked by, and then, like her body was moving without any attempt at mental permission, she stood up. 

“Beca,” her boss started, but she was working on autopilot. She hated her heels, wanted time and time again to shirk them off in favor of the boots that she wore on her time off, and now when they clacked against the floor she thought that they were impossibly loud. Announcing with every step that what she was doing was wrong. Against the rules she’d set so carefully for herself so as to convince herself that she was ready. Always ready. 

The doorknob to the meeting room was cold, but not cold enough to break her out of her stupor. When Beca looked down at the hand that was turning it, she noticed her black painted fingernails - the only ounce of her previous self left in this horrible skirt-suit. From behind the door, she heard the woman. Chloe Beale, according to her file. Had been working with the company for three years, straight out of college - the same one that Beca had graduated from years ago. The woman. The job. The woman. 

She was, Beca reminded herself harshly, not at all what Beca had expected. 

When she opened the door, Chloe looked up in shock, her mascara already dripping from her eyes. 

“You’re here,” she said, her voice wobbly. Beca swallowed, shifting her weight from side to side. 

“Yes,” she said curtly. “Yes, I am. We’re…that’s….” she was pointing at the computer screen that once held her face. “It’s a new thing.” 

The woman nodded, wiping at her nose. “I can go,” she said, scooting her chair back. “I just…needed a moment.” 

“Yeah,” Beca said, then, more sternly, “Yes. Please.” 

Letting out a shaky sigh, Chloe stood up. She was taller than Beca, but only by one or two inches, and when she smoothed out her tweed skirt, Beca noticed her nails were bright green. She assumed Chloe was the one who handed out candy in the office on Halloween, donning a witch’s hat. The men working next to her tried over and over to ask her out during Christmas parties that she helped organize, but she would settle for a karaoke session in the meeting room they were standing in now. Sometimes, Beca imagined, she would add more than just basic mascara and blush to her face. Maybe a touch of lipstick. 

It would drive the office insane, and she would, somewhere where there was still something burning within her, love it. 

“How do you…” Chloe started, staring at Beca quizzically. Then, she shook her head. “Sorry. Nevermind.” 

Beca’s hand reached out, touching Chloe’s arm for a moment before she stepped back like she’d been burned. “No, uh,” she stumbled. She scratched her head. “What?” 

Chloe took another breath. “How do you do what you do?” she said, her eyes squinting. “How do you watch people crumble and then just go on your lunch break like nothing happened?” 

Beca swallowed, her eyes skirting around the room. Chloe stepped back, holding her hands up. “Sorry,” she said again, “That was rude.” 

“It’s…” Beca started. She was acutely aware of the computer screen, and the fact that her boss could hear everything. “It’s not like that. It’s…hard. It’s my job.” 

She said both truths with equal weight, as if to communicate how they balanced out. Then, she remembered herself. “You’re not crumbling,” she said, “You’re only just beginning.” 

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Chloe said, though it was harsh at all. “I’m not stupid.” 

“I know you aren’t,” Beca answered quietly. She wanted to reach out again, to put a hand on Chloe’s shoulder. But she resisted. “I’m not lying,” she tried, with more honesty than she maintained all day. “You’re…something. Something more than this,” she gestured around the room. “You’re an artist, right? Or a writer, when the boss isn’t looking? You don’t want this life. This is just me telling you that you don’t have to live it.” 

Chloe’s hand was on the doorknob, squeezing it like a pulse. Beca watched, like earlier, the way her lip trembled. “I want to hate you,” she said finally. 

“That’s okay.” 

Then, “I kinda want to hate me too.” 

Chloe, in that moment, chuckled despite herself. It broke something inside the room. Beca thought again about the heels she forced herself into this morning, feeling the words she’d just said echoing around her. “Don’t we all?” Chloe said bitterly, stepping out of the room, but holding the door open for Beca. Her eyes lingered on the brunette’s black nails. 

“Yeah,” Beca answered, “Yeah, true.” 


	192. The One With Camping and Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if you're taking prompts still but if you are could you do one when bechloe is celebrating their 6 month anniversary or something and they decided it would be fun to go camping and it starts to rain and they can’t figure out how to set up the tent — sent by anonymous

“I thought it would be romantic.” 

Those six words had a tendency to get Beca in trouble, and whenever she heard them, she groaned internally. Now, particularly, they’re being said while she stood over the corpse of a deflated tent, wiping her brow with the hem of her shirt. 

“Romantic?” she said. Chloe was standing on the other side, fiddling with two metal sticks. 

“Yeah,” Chloe said, shrugging. “You know, this is where I first propositioned you.” 

“Whilst packed like sardines in a tent with Amy pooping outside,” Beca whined. Chloe, who was squatting, sighed and fell on her bottom. 

“Fine,” she said, throwing her arms up. “So it’s not romantic. So sue me. At least I  _planned_ something for our anniversary.” 

“You told me specifically not to make plans!” Beca huffed, but Chloe’s arms were already crossed, her pout painted on. Beca watched her, frustrated, before she couldn’t handle it any longer. A disappointed Chloe was like seeing a child who’d lost their balloon in the sky. A disappointed Chloe that was disappointed by, well,  _Chloe_  was even worse. Beca walked over to her, scooting down and placing a hand on her shoulder. 

“Hey,” she said weakly, nudging Chloe’s arm with her nose. “Hey, come on.” The redhead moved slightly, opening up her arms so that Beca could slide underneath. “I’m just…like, traumatic flashbacks, yunno?” 

“Me propositioning you was traumatic?” 

“No!” Beca said quickly, but Chloe was chuckling a little at her reaction. “Shut up, you know I don’t like talking about the bear trap.” 

“Right,” Chloe said, nodding. Her smirk was spreading. “Maybe we can sleep under the stars?” 

“Yeah,” Beca said sarcastically. When they glanced up, all they were met with was the sight of endless clouds, looking more ominous than when they settled earlier. “I think those clouds have the same idea.” 

“Ughhhh,” Chloe threw her head back, but Beca just laughed lightly, nuzzling closer. It was then that the sky crackled and flashed, the first bolt of thunder and lightning setting off a torrent of rain. Instead of groaning again, Chloe broke out in laughter, accompanied by Beca’s snickers. 

Beca stood up, and Chloe watched, pulling the wet hair out of her face. 

“What’re you doing?” she shouted over the sound of the rain. Beca held her hand out to Chloe, a smile spreading from ear to ear. 

“Dancing,” Beca shouted back, “If you’ll be my partner.” 

“Beca Mitchell,” Chloe said, taking the girl’s hand. She had to squint to see through the rain, but she liked the way Beca’s eyes seemed to storm just as much as the sky did. “Are you propositioning me?” 

“What, is that the word of the day or something?” Beca asked, sliding her hand around Chloe’s waist. Their shirts were soaked all the way through, and Beca could hardly keep the water out of her eyes, but she pulled their bodies closer together while Chloe rolled her eyes. “Because I don’t want you practicing your vocabulary when I’m trying to make a moment.” 

“Fine,” Chloe said, giggling. Beca rested her head on Chloe’s collarbone and started to move back and forth, forming a meager square with her footsteps and letting the redhead follow. Just barely, underneath the unforgiving loudness of the rain, Chloe could hear Beca humming. She tried her best to join in, loving that the vibrations of Beca’s sounds could be felt in her chest. 

“See?” Chloe said, not stopping their movements. “It’s romantic.” 

Beca smiled just as thunder ripped through the sky again. “Please,” she said, “You just got lucky you’re with the queen of romance.” 

“Is that an official title?” Chloe joked, and Beca just pulled her closer. 

“I’m willing to compete for it,” Beca countered. “But it’s gonna take a lot to beat a planned out dance in a rainstorm.” 

Chloe tutted, lightly tapping Beca on the shoulder by way of showing her annoyance, though she simultaneously pressed her wet lips to Beca’s forehead. “You’re the best, yunno, Beca Mitchell.” 

“Oh yeah,” Beca said, pulling away just enough to kiss Chloe back, “I’m pretty aware.”


	193. The One With the Accidental Vows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sometime the heart boldy finds a way to speak what the mind is afraid to say. Priest: Please repeat after me, I Chloe Beale take thee Tom Matthews. Chloe: I Chloe Beale take the Rebecca Mitch--. — sent by anonymous

Beca wasn’t even going to go to the wedding. 

In fact, to fight the gnawing temptation she knew she’d have, she went out the night before, stayed up until five am, and drank what seemed like half a bottle of tequila on her own. Jesse, though, was permanently wearing the dog collar that was the title of “Aubrey Posen’s Husband”, and Aubrey was permanently wearing the tiara that held the title of “Chloe Beale’s Best Friend”, so when he stormed through her loft at eight in the morning and threw her dress at her, she was entirely too hungover to argue. 

And, thank God for that. Because, contrary to every single terrible “I think I’m going to die right about now” feeling that bubbled in Beca’s stomach as she stood outside of the church with sunglasses she refused to take off and the taste of alcohol still on her breath, this was  _not_ a wedding she wanted to miss. 

Chloe was radiant. Stunning. So much so that it sent the pounding in Beca’s mind into overdrive. Beca thought, briefly, that the whole idea of getting piss-black drunk the night before Chloe’s wedding wasn’t a terrible idea after all, because now she was more focused on her hangover than that piercing feeling in her chest - the one that reminded her of the dream she’d had the night before graduation, which put her up on the altar right there with Chloe, looking, admittedly, not as good as the other bride, but just as happy. 

It was a strange feeling to know that you wanted something and missed your chance without actually  _knowing_  that you wanted it in the first place. It was the kind of feeling that clogged the brain, stuffing sinuses and stomping down to the stomach so that you felt  _just_ uneasy enough to be uncomfortable. 

It wasn’t until Chloe stood, hand in hand with Tom, and said those words that the entire picture was filled in with color to Beca. She imagined, based on the look on Chloe’s face, that it wasn’t unlike that for the redhead either. 

Tom carried through with his vows confidently, if not a little cockily, throwing a wink over to the crowd when he finished and making Beca pretend to gag until Jesse elbowed her lightly. When Chloe spoke, it was soft, but still echoing through the church enough for it to send shivers down Beca’s spine. It, too, was confident. 

“I, Chloe Beale,” she started, a grin peeking from the corner of her mouth. A strand of hair had fallen out of her updo, curling down and framing her face. “Take you, Rebecca Mi–” 

Her voice broke off in a squeak - one that seemed to make the church erupt in polite but still audible movement. In the pews, family members and friends turned towards each other, leaning in to whisper or shake their heads, confusion stemming from the minister all the way down to the flower girl and back. 

Chloe had only glimpsed Beca as she walked in, spotting her in the second pew, right behind her mother and father. She was wearing the same dress they’d picked out for graduation four years ago, with sunglasses perched on her head and the red-eyed look of a classically Mitchell hangover. It took everything in Chloe’s power not to wink at her, shaking her head and muttering something about a “rough night”. She hadn’t seen her in three and a half months. 

Even tired, her eyes were piercing. 

She fought, throughout the ceremony, to keep her eyes scanning the room instead of focused on her and the way she was tearing up in the program into tiny scraps. It wasn’t her fault, then, really. Beca was on her mind, in the corner of her sight, and, subsequently, the on the tip of her tongue. 

When she started, it felt right. Natural. Like tasting chocolate for the first time, or the thousandth time, or all the times in between. Instead of looking to Tom when she realized her mistake, she glanced up, out, at the girl in the second row with eyes as wide as a deer’s. 

“It’s fine,” Aubrey whispered over her shoulder to the minister, “Just have her restart.” 

“Are you sure, I cou–” Tom started, but Aubrey held her hand up. 

“She’s…It’s been a long morning for her,” the blonde explained, “Lots of hairspray. She’s good. Right, Chlo?” 

Chloe blinked, breaking her gaze with Beca, who had her mouth wide-open and was responding about just as much as Chloe was to Jesse, who was shaking her shoulder and demanding an explanation. 

“Um,” Chloe said, swallowing. She turned, seeing nothing but Tom in her vision. “Um.” 

“Hey,” he said, picking up her hands, “We’re good?” 

“Yeah,” Chloe nodded, swallowing again. She wasn’t sure what was stuck in her throat, but she felt like she was going to cry. Forcing a smile on her face, she met Tom’s eyes. “Totes. Just, um…” 

Looking back out at Beca, she noticed the space in the pew previously occupied by her friend to be empty. Subconsciously, she took a step forward, feeling Aubrey’s hand grasp at her back. 

“Chlo,” Aubrey cautioned, but Chloe shook her head. 

“Where’d Beca go?” 

“That’s not important,” Aubrey hissed through her teeth. “Come on, you’re making a scene.” 

“I’m allowed to make a scene,” Chloe argued, tugging at the dress that Aubrey had a hold of, “It’s my wedding day!” 

“Yes, so let’s get on with the wedding!” Tom added, earning a glare from Chloe. “You can talk to Beca later….” 

“No,” Chloe said, finally breaking the dress free from Aubrey’s hands. “I can’t. I have to…I have to check in on her. I’m sorry.” Then, to the crowd that was starting to rumble in confusion. “I’m sorry.” 

Chloe had become accustomed, in her life, to the feeling of people’s eyes on her. She even started to relish it. This, though, was different. There was a heaviness to the stares that followed her back down the aisle, and a kind of suffocation that accompanied the corset holding her up. The doors were heavier than she imagined, and when she stormed through them, she found Beca, wincing at the sun as she pinched the bridge of her nose and took two Advils. 

“They don’t have taste,” Chloe commented, out of breath and wiping away the mascara that was already streaming down her face. She didn’t pause for second between spotting Beca and talking. “I don’t know why you plug your nose.” 

“Because,” Beca swallowed, pulling her hair back. “ _I_ can taste them.” 

“Well aren’t you special,” Chloe said with a side smirk, still heaving. She slumped down on the steps, letting the dress pillow out around her. 

“’S not the dress I imagined for you,” Beca said quietly, feeling the hemline. Chloe looked down, turning her toes inward. 

“Yeah,” she said. “Evidently not the ceremony I imagined for myself, so…” 

“We gonna talk about that?” Beca asked, her casualness turning Chloe’s tears into laughs. The redhead chuckled, nudging Beca on the shoulder. 

“Sorry,” she said weakly, “God. That was…” 

“Worse than Amy showing her down under to the POTUS and FLOTUS? Yeah.” Chloe laughed again, burying her face in her hands. “That’s all it was though right?” Beca asked, biting her lip. “A dumb accident.” 

“Yeah,” Chloe said, nodding. The fervent nods, though, became a shake of her head that confused even her. She furrowed her eyebrows. “No,” she said, sighing, “I don’t know.” She felt Beca’s hand on her shoulder. “You have a fun night last night?” 

Beca breathed out, resting her head on Chloe’s bare shoulder. “I didn’t really think today was gonna hit me so hard,” she said, “Like, not even….it’s fucking beating me up, I swear.” 

Chloe laughed. “Alcohol  _can_ do that, Becs.” 

“Well, alcohol and…you,” Beca said. She was looking out at the street in front of the church, her eyes focused though she felt Chloe suddenly shift to stare at her. “Mostly you. But, like, a touch of tequila.” 

“Are we idiots?” Chloe asked after more than a few moments of silence. Beca finally glanced at her, questioning. “You and me…all this time…and,” she looked up, gesturing at the church, “All these very expensive distractions…” 

“And still not realizing? Yeah. We’re pretty thick.” 

“I said your effing name at the altar,” Chloe whined, burying her face again. Beca laughed this time, patting Chloe’s back. 

“You looked nice?” she tried, and Chloe only responded with a despondent moan. 

“I’m going to have to go back in there and explain to my parents that they wasted a whole lot of money for nothing.” 

“You’re also gonna have to explain the whole chick thing,” Beca added, and though Chloe felt her smirk, letting it make her warm, she still whined. Beca reached around, taking her into a side hug. “Hey, hey,” she said, her voice quieter. “You got this far?” 

“Yeah, two steps outside of the church,” Chloe commented, but Beca quieted her. 

“Okay, well, where’s the limo?” 

“Huh?”

“Every bridal party has a limo,” Beca said, “I think.” 

“It’s in the parking lot,” Chloe said, pulling away to see Beca’s face. The girl was looking only at her lips. 

“So,” she said, “Let’s take it. And, like, pretend that for a few seconds the world doesn’t exist. So we can stop being idiots and have some fun?” Both of Beca’s eyebrows were raised, but she was biting her lip, still unsure until Chloe took both of her hands, smiling. 

“Maybe we’ll figure our shit out while we’re at it?” 

“At the very least, we’ll get free drinks in this get-up,” Beca said, motioning to Chloe’s gown. “And one day, we can tell our grandchildren that on our first official date I already had you in a wedding gown.” 

“Our first date?” 

“Yeah,” Beca breathed, squeezing Chloe’s hand before standing. “What’dya say?” 

“Well, Beca Mitchell,” Chloe said, her smiling growing. She stood next to Beca, straightening her dress and ignoring the sounds of conversation happening inside the church. “I believe that my line is: I do.” 


	194. The One with Fake Sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If your taking prompts can you do one where Chloe is sick (fever, cold, etc.) and beca has been taking care of her. When she's all better she pretends to still be sick because Becas doing everything Chloe usual does and when beca walks in on Chloe jumping around, beca gets upset. — sent by bechloe-af

It wasn’t  _necessarily_ on purpose. 

Was her fever gone? Probably. And that ache in her head? Sure, that  _might_ be gone. But how was she supposed to really accurately tell if the sudden burst of energy she got this morning wasn’t some twenty-four hour break between fever dreams? 

She was only being careful, of course. Which had nothing to do with the fact that when Beca found out Chloe was sick, she actually physically pushed her up the steps, tucked her into bed, and demanded she not leave. It had nothing to do with the way Beca pulled her computer out and found an old Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen movie, offering to watch it with the redhead because, as much as she hated to admit it, “Those creepy twins are the best medicine. Or, like, at least their movies are boring enough to make you fall asleep”. 

When Beca put a hand to her forehead, hissing and pulling back immediately with a “You’re so hot”, Chloe loved that she could say - despite her aching throat and tired eyes - “You bet I am” and still make Beca blush. And Chloe loved when the brunette tucked her feet under the covers, pressing them against Chloe’s shins in an active move to cool her down while not complaining about Chloe’s need for bedsheets anyway. Also, obviously, she didn’t mind being served meals in bed, or watching Beca try to look up recipes for chicken noodle soup (which, after she texted her mom for her family recipe, ended up being delicious), not to mention the fact that she didn’t realize how badly she needed to experience the joy of missing a Bellas rehearsal until she actually bit the bullet and did it. 

So waking up this morning to a nose that could breathe again and a head that was free of it’s pounding was actually more than a little disappointing. Not that she  _liked_ being sick. She just…got used to it. 

“Good, you’re up,” Beca said, tiptoeing into the room with a tray that held toast and eggs. “I made some food if you’re up for it, but you have to drink the OJ first.” 

Chloe nodded, hoping that when she  _did_ have to speak, her throat would still be as raspy as yesterday. That would, at the very least, buy her a little sympathy. It wasn’t until Beca asked how she was feeling that she realized she didn’t have to be  _completely_ honest. 

Perched on the edge of her bed, Beca looked down at her with wide, concerned eyes, one hand on her forearm with a fearless that Chloe wasn’t used to on Beca. Despite any and all appearances, the woman was good at care, approaching an almost maternal level of concern in just a glance and one or two touches. 

“Meh,” Chloe said, shuffling in the sheets so as to scoot further down. She forced her eyelids to appear heavier, and hoped that without makeup, that clammy paleness was still in effect. 

“Yeah?” Beca hummed, worried. She reached out, putting a hand on Chloe’s forehead. “Not too warm today. But better safe than sorry?” 

“I can get up,” Chloe lied, pulling herself up and visibly struggling, throwing a cough or two in for added effect until Beca put a hand on her shoulder, forcing her back down. 

“Fuck no,” Beca said, standing up. “You stay there. Doctor’s orders.” 

“When’d you get your MD?” Chloe joked, and Beca let out a grin. 

“Right about the same time you got the plague, apparently.” 

Beca then moved to scurry throughout the room, setting up Chloe’s computer again and putting out clothes that she could change into after her shower. She stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, and inspected the space. 

“I’ll be fine,” Chloe said. She squeaked it, hoping that the effect would be somewhere near the raspiness she had yesterday, which seemed to work well enough because Beca considered something before turning on her heel and walking back over the bed, placing a peck on Chloe’s forehead. 

“Feel better and stuff,” Beca mumbled, scuttling out of the room before Chloe had time to think of a response. 

Only when Beca left did Chloe realize that she might have been slightly less than honest about her…condition. In her defense, she almost never really had control over what she said when the other girl was involved - especially when she was at the receiving end of all those caring and compassionate glances. 

Really, in the long run, Chloe thought, it was all fun and games. That is, except for the forgotten fact that if Chloe was left for more than a few minutes alone and without stimulating activity, she was likely to go crazy. It’s why she did work in Beca’s room most nights, and why she preferred to pace when she read. So it only took about ten minutes scrolling through her computer for Chloe to sigh frustratedly, slam the screen shut, and throw the blankets off of her legs. 

She had the day off. Middle school style. There was, really, only one thing to do. And that one thing was to take off her pajama pants, grab her hairbrush, turn on her ipod, and perform for the thousands of people she had stationed in a stadium in her head. Naturally. 

With 110% control over herself and her movements, Chloe was doing fine - keeping an eye on the clock and making sure that the music was quiet enough to hear if the front door opened. That is, until a certain song came on. And, really, in hindsight Chloe realized this was probably some sick joke by the universe to curse her for lying to a very caring best friend, but at the time she didn’t recognize the trap. No, instead, she squealed, cranked up the volume, and let Taylor Swift work her voice up into a crescendo. 

“You loser!” 

The noise came from the very tail end of the song, echoing out within the silence that just began to press through the walls. Chloe spun around quickly, her heartrate spiked further by the surprise, to find Beca holding a paper bag and wearing the face of someone who’d been permanently betrayed. Racing to get to the iPod before the next song came on, Chloe stumbled, slipped, and slid her way to where she needed to be before looking up at Beca through her eyelashes and biting her lip. 

“You lied to me?” Beca said slowly, walking into the room. Chloe stayed quiet, slipping onto the bed with a leg folded under her. “You just let me go off to my class worried sick about you while you were he–”

“You were worried?” Chloe asked. She realized right after she opened her mouth that she’d not interrupted the woman she’d scorned, which might not have been the brightest of choices. “Sorry,” she said quietly. 

“God, Chloe, were you even sick?” 

“Yes!” Chloe said, her voice squeaking. She cleared it quickly. “Yes. Yeah. Totes. Beca, I wouldn’t lie to you.” 

“Evidently you would,” Beca countered. She stepped further into the room then, putting the bag on the desk and walking closer to the bed. “Picked up your antibiotics,” she grumbled, the annoyance clear in her voice. When she was close enough, Chloe reached out and took her hand, spreading her fingers out. 

“I really am sorry,” Chloe said. “I didn’t think this morning. You just…you were being so nice…”

“I’m always nice,” Beca shot back, her face an adorable strand of hurt. 

“This was a special nice,” Chloe said. “I felt special.” 

“Chloe Beale, either you’re getting a fever again or you’re blushing,” Beca said, pulling away from the redhead, who’s hand jumped to her cheek. 

“Defs the fever,” Chloe said, blushing more, and Beca - finally - laughed. “Are you going to forgive me, like, ever?” 

Beca put a finger up to her chin, tapping it. “We’ll see,” she said, her eyes flicking to Chloe’s lips for a fraction of a second before her eyebrows furrowed and she turned away, coughing abruptly. When she finished, she returned Chloe’s scared look with a glare. “But I swear to God if I’m sick, you’re not hearing the end of it.” 

 


	195. The One With the Caffeine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: you’ve been in the coffeeshop i work at for 12 hours typing furiously on your laptop and i get that it’s my job to sell you caffeine but if you drink any more espresso you may actually die, are you sure you’re alright — sent by spookpocalipse

She was working a double shift. 

Mondays in general were bad days to be employed by a coffee shop, just due to the country’s overall need for caffeine to start out the week in a relatively good mood, so Chloe was buzzing from one end of the counter to the other, her apron reeking of spilled coffee and her hands burning from the damned expresso machine. 

She shouldn’t have, amidst it all, noticed the girl who was sitting in the corner of the store. And she wouldn’t have, honestly, but the girl had ordered more than her fair share of drinks, and Chloe knew that had she been a bartender she would’ve had to have cut the girl off about three expressos ago. 

So, when the shop calmed down enough for the redhead to breathe - after the post-work rush at around eight in the evening - she put a banana on the table in front of the girl and walked away, expecting that with the level of utter intensity pooling in the girl’s eyes and aimed at the computer screen, there was not a chance in hell that she would’ve noticed any movement around her.

Her expectations, though, were wrong, and she halted in her path back to the kitchen when she heard, “What the fuck is this?” 

Spinning on her heel, she faced the woman. “You need to eat,” she said simply enough. 

“I ordered another drink,” the woman said. Chloe looked at the table, which was lined in paper cups with the name “Beca” scrawled across all of them. She reached out, running her finger over one lid. 

“Yes,” Chloe said, “And it’s my job to give you that drink, but if I serve you any more caffeine, I’m worried your leg is going to rub a hole in the ground that leads to China.” 

Beca looked down at her leg, which had been shaking nonstop for the better half of the twelve hours she was stationed at the table, and forcibly pushed it to stop. “I’m fine,” she said quickly, “And not hungry.” 

“If your heart gives out, I can’t have that on my conscience,” Chloe argued. She stayed at the table, tapping her fingers against it. Beca watched the hands going in rotation once, twice, until they disappeared and ending up snapping in her face. “Seriously, are you alright?” 

Beca blinked, surprised. “Yeah, no I’m like…” she looked at her computer, where the music mixing program seemed somehow  _more_ blank than earlier. She sighed. “Busy.” 

Chloe looked back at the counter, then at Beca again. “Same here,” she said, then pointed to the chair across from Beca. “Can I…?”

“I mean, I’ve got work to d–”

“We both deserve a break,” Chloe said simply, slamming Beca’s computer shut. The minute she did that, though, she grimaced. “I met for that to be cool and suave, but if you didn’t save what you were working on then…”

“You’re fine,” Beca said with a wave of her hand. “Luckily, when you don’t know what the hell you’re doing, you end up saving a lot as a mode of procrastination.” 

Chloe nodded knowingly, reaching out for the banana and beginning to peel it. “That might have to do with the chemical imbalance in your brain, you know. Which, really…” she looked down at the fruit she was peeling, “…is not going to be helped by a singular banana. If you ask me.” 

“Okay,” Beca said slowly, slumping back in her chair. “What do you propose then?” 

“Hmmm,” Chloe said, a smiling quirking up on her lips. “I finish my shift in an hour. If you can work until then…then…we can both go get a proper meal.”

“Like…” Beca shifted in her seat. “Together?” 

“Think of it as a reward,” Chloe said, winking, “For getting an hour’s worth of work done, yeah?”

Beca breathed out, smiling despite herself. She did  _not_ have the time - the deadline was by the end of the night - but she somehow felt more… _capable_ …with this woman around. “Yeah,” she said, nodding and gaining more certainty in her answer as the word slipped out. “Yeah, that sounds…great.”

“Great,” Chloe repeated, picking up one of the empty coffee cups. “I’m Chloe. I’ll be over there. But just in case, my number’s on one of your fuel cups.”


	196. The One At the Amusement Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: we both came to this amusement park with odd numbered groups and got paired together for this roller coaster which has now broken down and it’s gonna be at least an hour until it’s fixed enough for us to get off, now’s as good a time as any to get to know each other, right? — sent by spookpocalipse

“This is unbelievable,” Beca grumbled, stretching just enough out of her seat to look down at the ground - which was, conveniently,  _very_ far away at the current moment. “Shit.” 

The girl next to her laughed lightly to herself, shaking her head. She watched Beca openly, not bothering to hide her gaze by peeking out of the side of her glances, and it bothered Beca almost as much as her quiet mocking did. 

“Can I help you?” she asked. The other girl just smiled wider, not at all affected by Beca’s harshness. 

“Afraid of heights?” the woman answered, her voice ending on a chuckle. Beca sighed, running a hand through her hair. 

“No, I’m not…” she said. Her leg started bouncing. “I just don’t like…being inconvenienced.” 

“Really?” the woman asked, “Cuz it looks like you’re afraid of heights.” 

“Who the f–”

“I’m Chloe,” the woman said. She couldn’t reached out to shake Beca’s hand, moving to pick it up when Beca didn’t give any indication of reciprocating the motion. Then, forcefully, she pumped Beca’s arm up and down, smiling all the while though Beca’s mouth, at this point, was gaping. “And you are?” 

“Shocked by your forwardness,” Beca said, crossing her arms. “And convinced you were raised by overly friendly wolves.” 

“Cute,” Chloe hummed, looking forward. “But I’ll have you know that Mr. and Mrs. Wolf are great parents.” 

“Mr. and Mrs. Wolf,” Beca scoffed, “You couldn’t have come up with something more creative?” 

Chloe shrugged simply enough. She was painfully nonplussed, and Beca, who couldn’t help but repeatedly look down throughout their interaction, was started to get annoyed. 

“So am I going to have tease your name out of you or…?” 

Beca sighed audibly, looking up and rolling her eyes in the most dramatic fashion since her angsty years (her  _more_ angsty years) in junior high. This, though, only pushed Chloe’s smile further up. 

“Come on,” she said, leaning closer to Beca. “You’re gonna have to tell me.” 

Beca set her jaw, determined, eyes straight ahead at the peak of the hill that they were about to reach before the ride stopped completely. She felt something poking at the side of her cheek, and when she glanced over, she saw Chloe’s finger. 

“Are you kidding me, dude?” Beca said, “You’re actually the most obnoxious person to be stuck here with.” 

Chloe, who, until this point, only found Beca’s protestations adorable, sat back and focused her eyes ahead once Beca finished her insult. She scratched her head nervously, biting her lip, and Beca could just barely see the way it trembled slightly. Like she was about to cry. “Jesus Christ,” Beca grumbled, taking a deep breath. When she turned to Chloe, she said, “Beca.” 

Her hand was extended this time, ready for another, more consensual handshake, and Chloe brightened up immediately, any semblance of sadness erased from her eyes in place of excitement. “Nice to meet you, Beca,” she said, taking Beca’s hand and shaking it eagerly. “Now, what am I going to have to do to get you to admit that you’re afraid of heights?”

“I’m not—” Beca stopped herself, shaking her head. When she averted Chloe’s smile by looking down, she shuddered. “Fine,” she breathed. “Forgive me for not being into floating a hundred feet in the air.” 

“A hundred feet is a bit of an exaggeration,” Chloe quipped, earning a glare from Beca. She softened, then, all traces of teasing erased from her eyes. “It’s okay,” she said, carefully putting a hand on Beca’s shoulder. “You’re okay.” 

Beca breathed lightly, allowing the full magnitude of the situation to soak in. She felt Chloe’s hand become more certain against her shoulder blade, like it was slowly anchoring itself to radiate all the calm that she knew the redhead was experiencing. After a few seconds of silence, she spoke up. 

“It’s not a big deal,” she said weakly. Chloe smiled, nodding. “We’re totally going to be fine.” 

“Yeah,” Chloe chirped. Beca wasn’t sure if the woman’s emotions were always so much of a …well…rollercoaster, or if it was just the circumstances that made Chloe jump from chipper to soathing to mocking and back again. She found herself surprisingly unbothered by it, though, leaning into Chloe’s touch after a time, and even starting to sigh. Chloe, in response, hummed. “It’s kind of nice,” she said after a while. “The sun is setting and stuff.” 

Beca hummed her agreement, leaning her head against Chloe’s shoulder. “Comfy, too,” she said, and Chloe laughed. Beca liked how she could feel it in her bones, the laughter passing from Chloe’s collarbone into her temples. It was jolting and comforting at the same time, and, suddenly, Beca felt warm.

Chloe’s arm had shifted so that it was wrapped over Beca’s other shoulder, drawing circles up and down her arm. 

“Hey, Beca,” Chloe asked, stopping her tracing. Beca moved slightly to look up at Chloe, her eyes almost sleepy. “After this….do you want to get some cotton candy?” 

“Oh,” Beca answered, pulling a face of disgust. “I should’ve pegged you for a cotton candy kind of girl.”

Lightly, Chloe swatted Beca’s arm. When her face sobered, Beca saw a real fear there. One like her fear from a couple of minutes ago, and it didn’t look right on Chloe’s face. She shrugged. “Funnel cakes,” she said simply. “You’re buying.” 


	197. The One With the Pizza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Beca and Chloe live across each other in an apartment building and one of them orders a pizza but the pizza guy gives it to the wrong gal and they took it because 'OH MY GOD I WAS SO HUNGRY IM SORRY!' — sent by spookpocalipse

She heard the voice first in the hallway. It’s angry, she thought, and holding a one-sided conversation. And, sure, Beca wasn’t one for eaves-dropping, but these walls were thin, and when there sounded like drama was around the corner…well, it’s not like there was anything good on tv that night anyway. 

It didn’t take long, though, for her to realize what the source of anger was. Because there’s only so many times that a woman can say “pizza” with an air of anger before one naturally assumes that this is the source of such fevered anxiety. Beca looked from the wall she placed her ear on eagerly to the coffee table, where half a pizza sat, uneaten, and sighed. 

No one needed to tell her she was a horrible person; this was a thing she already knew. It just didn’t help to have it proven time after time. Especially when the only thing tempting her was cheesy goodness and the added taste of free food. 

“Fine,” Beca saw the woman say when she opened the door. She was stationed in the middle of the hallway, pacing, in leggings and an oversized shirt. “No, no, that’s totally fine. I’m sure…” the woman sighed, frustrated. “I’m sure it was a misunderstanding…No I don’t actually think that, but I’m trying to be nice to you…Okay, okay…Yes. Thanks. Bye.” 

She jumped when she saw Beca, standing in her doorway like an idiot, trying to hide the guilt that was not so subtly creeping up her face. “Jesus Christ,” she said, “You scared the hell out of me.” 

“Right,” Beca winced, holding tightly onto the door. “Sorry. Um…I’m Beca. And you’re…bothered.” 

“What?” the woman was looking at her phone, eyebrows creased, but when Beca talked, she looked up, surprised. 

“Something wrong?” Beca asked like she didn’t already know the answer. 

Well, like the answer wasn’t currently digesting in her stomach. 

God, she was a terrible person. 

“Yes,” the woman grumbled. Then, she shook her head. Holding out her hand, she walked towards Beca. “Sorry. No, not really. Just…” she waved her other hand around her head. “I’m Chloe.” 

“Nice to finally meet you, neighbor,” Beca said sarcastically, closing the door slightly so that Chloe couldn’t see the offensive food item not too far away. Chloe smiled brightly, any previous frustrations apparently thrown out the window. 

“Same, actually,” she said. It was then that her stomach decided to growl - not too quietly, for the record - which, somehow, made both the girls wince. Beca assumed that the universe might be out to get her, or that karma wasn’t such hippie bullshit after all. Because this woman, especially now that she was standing right in front of Beca, was utterly beautiful, and she’d ruined her night, singlehandedly (aside from the one time she actually literally had two pieces of pizza at once - one in each hand…that would be….double-handedly? Oh, it didn’t matter). “Ugh, you heard that didn’t you? I’m sorry. That’s…gross. Or whatever. I ordered pizza but um…” Chloe scratched her head, looking again at her phone. “Whatever.” 

“Um,” Beca jumped, her own word surprising her. It wasn’t that she  _wasn’t_ planning on telling the truth, it was just that…she wasn’t exactly expecting to do so. Not in so many words. The sudden interruption was enough to draw Chloe’s attention, though, and the redhead blinked at her, waiting for a follow-up. Beca backed up slightly, further into the confines of her own apartment, as if to protect her. “So…don’t kill me.” 

“What?”

“I just….” Beca swallowed, throwing another glance at the pizza on the coffee table. She closed her eyes, muttering to herself. “I’m a sucky person.” Then, she looked at Chloe again. “You should know that about me.” 

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not t–”

“I ate your pizza,” Beca spat out, her eyes squinted and praying for forgiveness. Chloe gawked at her, tilting her head slightly, her face a collage of questions. “The delivery guy…he came here…and I…”

“You just took a pizza you knew you didn’t pay for,” Chloe finished, “Or order.” 

“I know,” Beca responded quickly. Her eyes were closed. “I know, I know, and I’m really terrible for doing that. I was just, like, really hungry. And it turns out I’m incapable of cooking dinners? So like…it was just a godsend, and really what I do out of hunger is not something I should be held responsible for so I–”

“Beca,” Chloe said, her voice more calm and sure than Beca’s by lightyears. She’d placed hands on Beca’s shoulders - a bold move for a stranger, especially where Beca was concerned, but Beca knew she wasn’t in the right position to flinch away or mutter something sarcastic. “I’m going to ask you a question now, and you have to answer honestly.”

Beca nodded, biting her lip. 

“Do you,” Chloe said, her eyes scanning Beca’s for truthfulness. Beca noticed then not only Chloe’s scent but also the impossible shade of her eyes. It was blinding, almost. And very helpful in the whole “guilt” thing. “Have any leftovers?”

Beca breathed out once Chloe finished her question, almost crumpling under Chloe’s touch. She was expecting….something worse, though  _what_ she wasn’t really sure of. She looked over the redhead one more time, seeing the smirk rising up on her lips, and realized how painfully innocuous the woman was. And, probably, how ridiculous she was for being so scared.

“Yes,” she breathed out. Then, she bounced, eyes popping slightly. “Yes! Right. Yes. I totally do. If you just…” she turned, walking back into her living room and picking up a few pieces of old laundry on the way. “Ignore the mess and…” 

She gestured to the box of pizza on the coffee table with a flourish, smiling fakely. “Ta-da?” 

Chloe grinned wider, watching the whole charade with amusement - which, thank  _God_ because this could’ve been a  _much_ worse situation if Chloe was any other neighbor living in New York. “I’m only offering you my complete forgiveness if you also happen to have a beer.” 

“Hmm?” 

“Beer,” Chloe said again, and Beca jumped one more time. She was, suddenly, less scared and more nervous. Very,  _very_ nervous. There was beautiful woman standing in her apartment and asking her to hang out - an offer she was required to accept, because of the circumstances - and she was very nervous. 

“Yes, sorry,” she said, scurrying to the fridge. When she handed it to Chloe, the redhead took off the bottle cap with the side of the coffee table, sitting down in a way that Beca imagined only fairies managed normally. 

“So, what’re we gonna watch?” Chloe asked, as if she’d lived with Beca for ages. Beca, somehow, despite all her nervousness, felt…comfortable. Or, familiar. Or whatever it was that allowed her to smile back at the redhead without hesitation. 

“Whatever you want,” Beca said, “I’m indebted to you.”

“Mmm,” Chloe hummed, taking a sip of her beer. “And don’t you forget it.” 


	198. The One With the Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fic prompt idea? Kind of different from what you usually write so if you don't want to that's fine. But like ok. So beca is writing Chloe a letter for her birthday and it's kinda tell all about becas love her Chloe. Maybe documenting all the times becas love for her was solidified. Basically fluff. But like fluff written by beca?? If That makes sense? So like the prompt is like you're writing the actual letter by beca? If this is too weird don't worry about it. So like dear chlo... — sent by anonymous
> 
> Also, Chloe's response

_Hey Chlo,_

_You know how I feel about birthdays. Throwaway holidays that just exemplify our self-congratulatory nature. I mean, who needs to celebrate the anniversary of their birth, anyway?_

_Um, I was thinking about your birthday, though, and I guess it all started to make a little bit more sense? Because I realize now that the idea of celebrating your existence isn’t too ridiculous. You’re kinda worth all the birthdays that no one else really deserves? Don’t make fun of me for that, dude. I’m trying here._

_The thing is, I don’t think I’m alone in thinking that your birthday needs to be some momentous occasion. In fact, I think the rest of the world agrees. I don’t know exactly what it was like the day you were born, but I think it was…like, a relief to the world. Like the universe had been doing a lot of shitty things a lot of the time, and then you came along, and it said, “Hey, not too bad. I did pretty good just then, didn’t I?” It had an aha moment._

_I think since the day you were born, you’ve been giving the universe - and everyone in it - constant aha moments. It’s something I’m not immune to, if you have to know._

_I think my first was after the shower…thing. Shut up, I know. Once I was able to, like, breathe normally, the first thing I thought was, “Holy shit. That woman is A) bat-shit crazy and B) something really goddamn special”. Special isn’t even the right word, I guess, but I think in those early moments, it was all I was able to assign to you._

_And since then you’ve kinda been barraging me with these moments. When you make me coffee in the morning and leave those little notes - you know, the ones with those doodles in the place of words…Or when you_ beg  _me to curl my hair, because you “like the way my hair feels” and because there’s nothing else to do on a Saturday afternoon…_

 _…Sometimes, I get it when you’re leading a rehearsal, and you look over at me, and the wink you give is so slight it could be just a small twitch. Don’t even get me started on the way you grin - as if you could read all my secrets, and instead of being, like,_ super  _judgmental you just find them funny? Or…cute? God, no thank you._

_I think the first time I tasted your lasagna I felt it. The first time, dear God, you gave me a back rub. Don’t get me started._

_I don’t know, Chlo, I think that maybe I’m wrong and it’s not a series of aha moments, but just a permanent existence of aha’s with you. A never-ending lifetime of the realization that this world is better with you in it, and so am I._

_That’s all super corny, and my hand is cramping up, so just…like…Yeah, I hope you liked this letter. Or whatever. It was considerably cheaper than getting that fricken’ onesie you wanted._

_I love you. And sometimes I’m just bowled over by how lucky I am to have you around. Although it was less “luck” and more…fate? Or something more solid than that….particles that were just meant to find each other. Yeah, that’s about right._

_So, happy birthday to you. But also, happy Chloe’s birthday to me, and to the rest of the universe. It’s really_ our  _holiday to celebrate, anyway. (Which means you’re the one who should be getting_ me  _a present, just saying)._

_Anyway, don’t make me regret writing this letter and actually, like, being honest with you? I don’t really like being vulnerable unless attacked in the shower by a redhead wanting to sing Titanium, you know._

_Love or whatever,_

_Beca_

 

 

_\--_

 

_Becs,_

_I’m writing to inform you of my extreme disappointment upon finding an envelope on my bed and_ not  _a onesie._

_I asked you for one thing, Mitchell. One gosh-darned thing._

_(I feel the need to make sure you know that that’s all in jest. I don’t know if you know this, Becs, but you’re kind of the most gullible person I know so I feel like that need is supported by past events. Anyway. Back to the letter…)_

_I’m going to tell you something, and I hope to God you don’t roll your eyes, rip the paper, and stop reading right here. Okay? Okay._

_So, the thing is, you’re going to make a great mom one day._

_I was reading your letter, and I could just see it. You setting up these series of notes for your kids (_ our  _kids *wink, wink*) just to tell them how special they are. I don’t even care that you’re going to tell me that’s a weird thing to say to you, because it’s true. And I’m just really excited to see it._

_I’m actually just really excited to see everything about the you that’s going to exist in the future. It’s important to me that you know that._

_“But Chloe,” you say, “You’re literally excited about the prospect of waking up in the morning, so this means nothing to me.”  
_

_(Don’t be freaked out by the fact that I was able to correctly predict your thoughts. I’m kind of psychic._ _Which means I know what you’re picturing right now. Dirty bird! Color me scandalized.)_

_Anyway…to the hypothetical you that is demeaning my excitement, I say, shush. Because this is different from the excited that I feel when it’s Christmastime and all the Bellas pull names from the secret Santa pile._

_It’s the kind of excitement you feel when you_ know  _it’s going to be a good day, even though you don’t know why or how yet. The kind of excitement that comes with having a_ really  _good idea, and being incapable of sitting on your hands long enough to stop yourself from overzealously seeing that idea through to it’s final copy._

_When I think about you and your future…I get un-scared. Because the thing about the future, Becs, is that it’s this giant void of black, and I hate having no color around, so when I look into it, I just keep backing and backing up and hoping there’s nothing behind me to push me down too._

_But when I think about_ your  _future, that goes away. The black void turns blue? Dark blue, though, like the way that the sky at night isn’t completely black but is actually navy with swirls of purple. It turns into that._

 _There’s a metaphor here about how you turn the black hole into this galaxy, with every single star and planet acting as another facet of the future you might pick for yourself. I’ve failed Russian Lit, like,_ a lot  _though, so let’s not talk about metaphors please._

 _What I’m trying to say is that you’re something special, too. Or whatever “more than special” is. And I think that you don’t see that - or at the very least don’t realize it - so when the time comes in the future where you can_ make  _something that shows you just how special you are….well, then, the world better watch the eff out._

_You might be grateful for the past that put me here, but I’m grateful for the future that keeps you here, and I have a feeling the universe will be just as celebratory. I know I will be. Or am. Celebratory, that is. So next time you tell me that I sing too much, know that it’s mostly your fault._

_I’ve rambled a long time, and I’m not really sure what I wanted to say other than thank you and that you don’t really realize how much your words reflect the way I feel about you too._

_Well, that, and that you’re going to be a great mom._

_You cringed again when you read that, didn’t you? Whatever, it’s what came to mind, and it’s true, so *sticks tongue out at you*_

_You’re my best friend, and I love you loads. Loads and loads of toads._

_–Chloe Beale, aka your BFFL no matter how much you try to fight that title_


	199. The One With the Hikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe tries to drag Beca along on one of her crazy hikes but Beca is super apprehensive. She ends up being convinced (because it's Chloe duh) and goes, only to fall and badly break her leg. She's starts to freak out and go into shock and Chloe has to try and keep her calm while they wait for an ambulance. — sent by anonymous

If Beca could say anything other than the pained squeaks that she was letting out currently, she would crack some muttered joke about how she knew this whole hiking thing was a bad idea. 

But she knew, somewhere in the pinpoint of active thought she had beyond “I am in pain, I am in pain, I am pain”, that she could and would never say that, because Chloe was currently staring at her with wide and guilty eyes - the kind that made Beca almost  _angry_ that she’d injured herself so severely, because she was certain it was causing the redhead more than a lifetime of her own mental anguish. 

She didn’t have much space for comedy or sympathy at the moment, though, curled into a ball on the dirt in the middle of the trail with Chloe hunched over her. All she had space for was the burning that was so hot it had turned cold, numbing her leg to everything but the pain that was there like a branding. 

“They’ll be here as soon as they can,” Chloe said. Her hands had been hovering worriedly over Beca’s legs, like she was the most uncertain shaman ever trying to heal her through the power of fervent prayer and almost-touch. “What….What can I do?” 

Beca winced, knowing that the tightness of her current position was only making things worse for her, but being incapable of loosening up her muscles enough to even breath steadily. It was then that she became fully aware of the situation, and the adrenaline that had been coursing through her finally directed it’s powers to her brain. 

She was lying on the ground. The dirt, actually. From this angle, everything around her, around them, was giant and looming, stretching over them as a threat and spinning around and around until they just created a tunnel for her to see through - tiny pinpricks of vision in and out that she thought were also, somehow, like straws to breathe through. 

“Beca,” Chloe said, noticing the change in Beca’s state. The hands hovering over her legs moved to her chest, where they pressed against Beca’s heart. Beca was barely able to register the movement, but felt Chloe’s warmth there - not as hot as the searing in her leg, and not cold either, but just there. Warm. 

“Chloe,” Beca squeaked. Her throat was dry, and the one word was enough to break any more semblance of facade that she was currently pulling. She broke into tears that she wasn’t even aware enough of to register, and Chloe acted immediately. Being sure to be cautious of the injury, she pulled Beca’s upper body towards her, crashing her against her chest in a hug. 

“Shhhh,” Chloe said. Beca’s hair was up in a bun, but Chloe ran her hands over it anyway, resting them finally on the girl’s neck and holding it there for stability. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” 

“It hurts,” Beca sobbed, and Chloe stopped rocking back and forth for a second before sighing and trying to continue. 

“I know,” she said. Her voice was a coo, and Beca could just barely allow herself to fall into the feeling of it. To allow  _that_ to be the pinprick that shimmied the whole of her vision back out. She closed her eyes, preferring that it just be the pain, and Chloe’s voice, and blackness. It was easier to handle that way. “Breathe,” Chloe reminded, dramatizing her breaths for Beca to follow. It was helpful, really, and against the redhead’s chest she could try to control her heart rate to match Chloe’s. “Breathe,” Chloe said again, breathing out. Her hand was running circles on Beca’s back, and it was all  _just_ enough. Just enough to draw Beca away from the dirt trail, or the trees that towered over them. Just enough, even, to pull her up from the pain in her leg, or to somehow pull her  _down_ because where she felt like she was floating before, she now felt like she was stable. Solid. In pain, but present, nonetheless. 

They sat like that, rocking back in forth to the sound of Beca’s broken sobs and occasional reminders to breathe by Chloe until Chloe shifted slightly, removing Beca from her chest cautiously and looking down at the girl. “They’re here,” she said, searching for the previous panic in Beca’s eyes. The separation from Chloe was enough to push the panic up and out, but Chloe put a hand on her shoulder. “But I’ll be here,” she said, “Right here for you the whole time. Okay?” 

Beca nodded weakly, scooting back and wincing over the shooting pain that spread up her leg. Chloe caught her, holding on tighter that before, a worried hiss having come from her mouth. “Becs,” she said, and Beca  _swore_ she heard a smirk in Chloe’s voice, “They’ll come to us, you know.” 

“Shut up,” Beca muttered, which did wonders in calming Chloe down overall. She was, at the very least,  _almost_ , back to normal if she could say her two favorite words. “And you wonder why I hate hikes.”


	200. The One with the Synced Cycles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Established Bechloe where their cycles sync up and they are PMSing at the same time. They get completely out of character and Beca is super emotional and Chloe is all kinds of angry. Bonus points if there's a third character that sees Chloe make Beca cry and proceeds to get mad only to realize what's actually going on. — sent by anonymous

There was a lot of wonderful, beautiful, glorious, magical things about dating a woman. 

There was, for starters, the softness. And the scent, which was, without argument, better than any kind of smell producible by a male. And, of course, the boobs, which Beca found she was _greatly_ under-rating prior to her introduction to Chloe’s chest. Those things deserve a “pro” column all their own on the list that Beca mentally made for herself. 

Really, the only foreseeable disadvantage, was a little wonder called Mother Nature. Who, incidentally, was even  _more_ of a masochistic practical joker than Fate and the Universe combined. 

Chloe had known Beca through many, many months, and the conflict that came with her specific time of these months really shouldn’t have surprised her as much as it did the first time she witnessed girlfriend-Beca in her cyclical prime. Still, stationed at the edge of the counter with a spoon of tomato sauce in her hand and tears streaming down her cheeks, the sight of Beca crying at a Mucinex commercial whilst trying to cook spaghetti was one that Chloe could and would never fully be unaffected by. 

Beca, too, thought she understood the Chloe that came out every twenty-eight days. She wasn’t exactly  _quiet_ about her womb woes, and there were countless Bella bus rides that consisted of Chloe groaning into Beca’s lap about how “being a hot chick” was “ _so_ not worth this”. Yet, lo and behold, only a few days after she’d been crying on the counter, Beca walked into the bedroom to find Chloe on the floor, two laptops balanced on either knee. 

“Uh, Chlo, you okay?” she had asked, to which Chloe responded that no, she was  _very much_ not okay, because three years ago, Aubrey wrote on Tom’s wall to ask about Stats homework, and who knew what  _that_ was code for. 

She’d always made jokes about how Chloe’s hair never really signified anything in terms of her temperament, and she wondered if, after that incident and the many more that followed, Chloe noticed how those jokes stopped altogether. 

And, sure, it was easy enough to handle most months, because when Beca cried, she became a cuddler, which was always undoubtedly just what Chloe wanted (to be fair, it was _always_ what Chloe wanted), and when Chloe got angry, Beca made dinner, or bought dinner, or took her  _out_ to dinner, and tended to top off the night with a small gift or mix or piece of writing that could melt Chloe’s heart enough to make her forget about whatever thing she blew up over. 

But, like I said, Mother Nature is no kind pacifist. And the issue of synced cycles, which Beca always just considered to be a myth until she moved in with the Bellas and experienced extreme terror once every month, made her seriously consider moving into a hotel for a few days every lunar cycle. 

“Beca,” Chloe called from down the hall, her voice sharp and ringing over the sounds of the infomercial Beca was watching with the other girls. 

“Oooh,” Amy said, wiggling her head excitedly, “Shortstack’s in trouble.”

“Shut up,” Beca sniffled, her eyes already watering. “I am not.” 

“Are you crying?” CR asked, leaning forward to get a better look at Beca, who was already shielding her face and wiping at the edges of her eyes. 

“Shut up,” she muttered, “The sponge can just…take out…any stain…” 

When CR laughed, Beca realized just how ridiculous her explanation was, and she quickly scurried away to the sound of Chloe calling her name again, this time more impatient. 

“Finally,” Chloe groaned when Beca walked into the room. Her hands were already on Beca’s shoulders, squeezing them tight enough to form bruises. “I’ve been calling you for the past twenty minutes.” 

“No,” Beca sniffled. She quickly wiped her nose on the edge of her shirt. “It was, like, twice.” 

“It was  _definitely_ more than that,” Chloe argued, crossing her arms. She scanned Beca’s form, seeing that she was just slightly hunched over and wiping her eyes frantically. “Whatever,” she huffed, spinning to the corner of the room. “I was thinking about Das Sound Machine. And how we never really got the right revenge.” 

“We beat them,” Beca mumbled, but Chloe was already sticking a pointer finger out, ready to continue her point. 

“She called you short, Beca!” Chloe said, her voice rising above her normally capabilities. “She called us all losers.” 

“She’s very pretty,” Beca added uselessly, to which Chloe just scowled angrily. 

“Oh and you were probably so into her, weren’t you?” Chloe sneered, making Beca back up. 

“Chloe, I–” 

“Which doesn’t even make sense!” Chloe started again, “Because she didn’t even respect you! Because! She! Doesn’t! Deserve! You! And–” 

“You really think she doesn’t deserve me?” Beca asked, her voice cracking. 

“Are you kidding?!” Chloe yelled. “I hardly deserve you, you’re so beautiful, and you don’t even  _realize_ it, which is  _maddening_ because come  _on_ with curves like that I could–”

“You like my curves?” Beca’s voice was impossibly small, twisting up at the ends so as to somehow make her eyes appear bigger too. Like a small animal of sorts, and Chloe felt that feeling of seeing a small creature that was so cute you wanted to…smush it. Or bite it. Or…something. 

She wasn’t exactly in her right mind. 

“Beca! God! It’s like you don’t even listen to me when I ta–” 

“Whoa,” Stacie, having walked into the room the minute Chloe had backed Beca up against the wall with her arms up in surrender, kept her hand on the doorknob uncomfortably. “What the hell is going on here?” 

“Nothing,” Chloe snapped. Her attention was hardly broken from Beca, who was now openly crying, her eyes pink and her nose red. 

“Chloe,” Stacie said, eying the girl suspiciously. She turned her attention to Beca, concerned. “Beca. Is everything okay?”

Beca pursed her lips to keep herself from all-out sobbing, closing her eyes and nodding weakly. It was enough for Stacie to grab Chloe’s wrist protectively, pulling the redhead towards her. “What did you say to her, Chlo?” 

“Nothing!” Chloe said defensively. Her hands were held up high, and the redness in her cheeks was deflating as she was brought back to a semi-bitter, semi-cold reality. Sure, not the burning hot anger she’d reached seconds ago, but more of the conscious, constant irritability. “Beca can’t take an effin’ compliment.” 

“Chloe thinks she doesn’t deserve me,” Beca whined, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. Stacie’s stare bounced between the two girls for a few seconds, and she swore the rest of the room could hear the sound of the cogs moving in her head. 

“What’s today’s date?” she asked Chloe, who reeled back, surprised by the question as the taller woman was still gripping one of her wrists. 

“May 4th,” she said. “Why?”

Stacie breathed out, annoyed. She let go of Chloe’s hand and turned on her heel. “You guys need to get your hormonal imbalances figured out,” she said over her shoulder. “Because this shit is ridiculous.” 

“It is  _not_!” Beca and Chloe said together, their voices ringing out past the doorway - Beca’s weak and faltering, almost doubting herself, while Chloe’s was indignant, certain, and fueled. “Go _d_!” 

 


	201. The One With the Emails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca and chloe are texting/emailing one another and are trying to hide it from each other, not realizing they're talking to each other. They didn't know they liked each other until now. Not the common plot line 'they liked each other the whole time but never said anything' they figured it out because of all the new shared information. So basically cinderella story but bechloe 

_feel like I know someone like you,_ Beca wrote, her words jumping from an elongated ellipses to sentences that would be erased until finally she settled on that one. She bit her lip, watching the matching ellipses appear and re-appear on the other side of the conversation. _Only, maybe what I’m trying to say is that I feel like I know you. Like you’re someone I_ should _know. You know?_

 _Yeah,_ she read off on the other screen.  _Yeah, exactly. Like when you hear a song you feel like you’ve heard, even though it’s impossible._

 _“_ Beca!” Amy called from the bottom of the steps. “Dinner!” 

She slammed her computer shut before reading the next series of responses, feeling an unsettled nervousness stirring in her stomach. 

“Who’re you textin’?” Chloe asked halfway through the meal when she noticed Beca looking at her phone while taping her thumb against the touch screen nervously. 

“Just…no one,” Beca said mindlessly, pressing the home button again without getting any new texts. She held up her phone so Chloe could see the blankness. “Literally.” 

Chloe tutted, her fork hitting her plate. “S’dinnertime. You must honor the phone-less-ness of supper.” 

“Oh is that the eleventh commandment?” Beca asked jokingly. Chloe shrugged. 

“It was in mine.” 

“Sure it was,” Beca said, and Chloe chuckled. 

It was moments like this, really, when Beca should’ve been able to put two and two together. Because the minute their meals were done, with Beca racing back up to her room with Amy behind her, was the minute she got another message. 

_When am I going to get to meet you?_

Beca watched the screen, waiting for a follow-up. There was none, and there something in the frankness of the other person’s words that was simultaneously shocking and familiar. This person,  _HellaBella23,_ had a penchant for honesty - just enough to make Beca feel  _more_ comfortable. Because she never had to second guess exactly what this person meant or if there were double meanings to their “You’re funny”s or their “I hope you have a good day”s. They pushed, but never too hard - told the truth, but never seemed blunt. 

 _I don’t know if you’d even want that_ , Beca returned with just as much honesty. Only, she never sent the message, choosing instead to delete it and hop off her bed. She paced back and forth, tapping her fingers against her phone and breathing out of her nose. 

“You okay, Shortstack?” Amy asked. Beca jumped, forgetting that her roommate existed for a moment. “Yeesh, little jumpy,” she muttered. Beca rolled her eyes, throwing the phone against her bed. 

“Shut up,” Beca let off weakly, not even buying her own fake sharpness. She walked out of the room quickly, her fingers never ceasing to bounce against whatever was around until she found herself knocking on Chloe’s door. 

“Come in,” Chloe sang, and Beca slipped through the door. Chloe looked up, noticing Beca and smiling. “You didn’t need to knock….” 

“I know, but,” she said, fumbling with her hands. “I don’t know. I…yeah.” 

“Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah,” Beca said, moving to sit on the end of the bed that Chloe cleared out for her. Chloe had a clock in her room - one that ticked every second and made their silences less heavy. Still, all Beca thought she could hear was the sound of her phone against her bedspread in the other room. She was itching to get back to it, until she realized what the message was that was waiting for her on her screen. She let herself fall backward, her head just barely stretching out over the edge of the other side of the bed, hair falling to hit the ground. 

“Doesn’t look like it,” Chloe said, and Beca groaned. 

“I have a conundrum,” Beca mumbled, and Chloe giggled. 

“I thought so.”

“I met someone,” she blurted, making Chloe sit up straight. 

“ _What_?  _When? How? WHO?”_

Beca laughed, pulling herself back up from the headboard. “Okay,” she said, quieting Chloe’s squeals. “I mean, they’re kind of….perfect.”

“That hardly counts as a detail, Becs.” 

“Right,” Beca clicked her tongue, avoiding Chloe’s eyes. “They’re…they get me. Like no one really does. Or has. Like, they  _love_ music, Chlo. And they’re just constantly asking about my mixes, but not, like, in a pushy way. Always in a way that seems genuinely curious. I guess…yeah…they push, but they don’t break down my boundaries. And we’re so different, but we get along, like, we talk until, like, three in the morning about….literally sometimes nothing and sometimes everything and….I don’t know,” Beca sighed, her hating the fact that she was smiling throughout her soliloquy. Chloe poked her side with her toe, so that when Beca met her eyes, she noticed the redhead was grinning too. 

“You really, really like them,” Chloe said sweetly. Beca closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her forehead. 

“I do,” she said. “Yeah. I think I do.” She paused. Her nails were digging into the comforter’s seams. “I know I do.” 

“So where’s the issue?” 

“Um, mostly I’m scared,” Beca breathed out of her mouth. “And…stuff.” 

“Okayyyyy.” 

“Whatever, this isn’t….Tell me about you. And your life. And shit,” Beca re-focused herself, sitting cross-legged now and facing Chloe with her eyes centered. Chloe laughed at her. 

“You came in her to talk to me about this and now you don’t want to?” 

“Just,” Beca paused, “Tell me about your life, please.” 

“Okay, well, since you asked,” Chloe said. She hesitated, not out of reluctance, but to add drama to the situation. Beca slapped her lightly on the knee to hurry her up. “I kinda met someone too.” 

“Nooooo,” Beca gasped, shoving Chloe again. “I  _know_ you’re going to give me details.” 

“Oh, of course,” Chloe sang, and Beca giggled. She positioned her pillow so that she was hugging it, and started talking. “They’re…um, like goofy. Because they do this thing where they pretend to not care, but then, I’ll get, like, a text about being careful on my run or whatever and…When I talk to them, I feel like I’m talking to someone who knew me  _before_ they judged me, you know? They let me talk, and they listen, and they still think the sun shines out of my butt but…they also think I’m smart? No one’s ever thought I was smart…” 

“Chloe,” Beca chided, but Chloe just tutted, shaking her head. 

“It’s fine, it’s not a big deal.” 

“Yes, it is!” Beca said, “You’re in love!” 

“Shut up!” Chloe giggled. “ _You’re_ in love!” 

“So what?” Beca laughed, shoving Chloe again, who gasped and stopped moving suddenly. 

“You’re in love,” Chloe breathed, the excitement shining in her eyes. Beca shook her head, but Chloe already had her leg grasped, determined to forbid the other girl from escaping the conversation. 

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Yeah, I think I am.” 

For a second, they were quiet, with Chloe’s eyes focused on Beca in a way that was proud and excited and really hard to  _not_ react to. Then, finally breaking the silence, she said, “I don’t know what to do.” 

“Tell them,” Chloe said, but Beca shook her head. 

“I haven’t even…met them.” 

“What?” 

“They’re….” Beca sighed, “Don’t laugh at me. But they’re online.” 

Chloe was quiet for a second, her eyes growing wider and her mouth opening as she looked around the room. Under the silent discomfort, Beca shifted, scratching her neck. 

“Are you….” Beca started, wincing. “What’s….” 

“Beca,” Chloe said. She tilted her head, pausing, and took a deep breath. “Um. I have a question for you.” 

“Okay, but like, I really do want your advice on th–”

“Becs,” Chloe snapped, shutting Beca up for a second. “Just, like, one sec.” 

“Okay.” 

“Are you…” Chloe closed her eyes. Beca watched, feeling increasingly anxious. “Are you MixItUp44?” 

“How did you…” Beca immediately blurted out, her finger set in an accusatory pose before she realized what Chloe was asking, jumping off the bed excitedly. Or nervously. Or…something. 

“Fuck,” Beca said, the pieces coming together. Everything Chloe’d ever said over the past few months, the ways that they seemed to share something they didn’t know they were sharing, and the fact that they might’ve both been a bit too enamored with their computers as of late. Even what  _HellaBella_ had said, over and over. Beca was a good listener. It was her strong suit. And she felt almost guilty for not realizing it before. For not realizing the way that Chloe and her virtual alter ego were just stereoing the same sentiments. 

“Yeah,” Chloe said. She flipped her computer so that Beca could see her own screen-name on the screen. When Beca looked up from the screen to Chloe, the redhead’s eyes were scared. She was biting her lip, and she looked near tears. “Do you…Is this….” she waved her finger between the two of them, “You obviously feel differently now.” 

“What?” Beca asked, immediately leaning over to Chloe, hands on her shoulders in surprise. Only, she was right. They weren’t a thing. She didn’t…feel anything for Chloe. Obviously. She felt something for the girl on the screen. Or the safely anonymous “they” on the screen. 

It was logical for Chloe to feel what she was feeling, because Beca wasn’t in love with her in the way she was in love with the person she’d been talking to for weeks. 

Only…maybe she was. 

It was only a “maybe” and nothing near big enough to be certain, but the thought itched at the edge of her mind until she wanted to reach up to her forehead and scratch it out. Claw it out. Let it out, somehow. She took an unsteady breath, seeing the brightness in Chloe she never really saw before. That kind of thoughtfulness to her eyes that she hadn’t noticed because she never really knew what kinds of things were happening behind Chloe’s temples until now. It was like seeing her naked, only different, because she’d already seen Chloe naked and this was so much more vulnerable. So much more real. 

“What if I didn’t,” Beca said quietly, more to herself than to Chloe. The redhead’s gaze snapped up to her. “Feel different. What if I’m not sure, but I don’t think I feel differently.” 

“That’s,” Chloe started. She took in an unsteady breath, and Beca felt the absence of her sucked in air from the surface of her lips. “That’s okay. That’s…” 

“Do you…” They said the words at the same time, and laughed uncomfortably. Chloe shook her head, holding a finger up to stop Beca and reaching for her computer. 

“My phone’s in my room,” Beca said when she noticed Chloe texting. The redhead hummed. 

“Go get it.” 

Once she got it, she pressed the home button immediately. Chloe’s old question was still on the screen, but so was something new, something sent by the same screen name as the previous one. 

 _That’s how I feel too,_ HellaBella23 had written.  _Now are you going to answer my earlier question or what? I was thinking dinner? Tomorrow? At eight?_

 _Yes,_ Beca said. She wasn’t certain about this, not even remotely, but she was certain, at least, of that answer.  _Yes, exactly._


	202. The One With Teasing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teasing, and a lot of it. Not the sex kind but just in their day to day lifes with friends around, trying to be sly about it. -hospital anon — sent by anonymous

They had a bit of a game. A game that Chloe never really expected Beca to be good at. 

Her entire adult life, Chloe was very aware of her effect on people. A trailing finger or a lingering glance or the right words placed at exactly the right time could send someone into a fit of stuttering coughs and red necks. She had learned over the years that she loved this particularly power and her ability to turn people into a melting pile of dilated pupils and cleared throats. It gave her some kind of glee that pushed giggles to her lips and sent adrenaline coursing through her veins. And Beca, in time, was the perfect target. She gave in so easily, hardly being able to control her breathing patterns when Chloe so much as winked at her. 

Which was why it was more than surprising when Beca learned to fight back. Or, more appropriately, when Beca learned to fight dirty. 

It started at rehearsal, because an hour prior Chloe had been fumbling through her drawer in nothing but a sports bra and Beca, still in bed, watched her until she let out a sigh. 

“What?” 

“Nothing, just…” she fiddled with the bedspread, her grin twitching at the sides of her lips. “Can you not wear that tank? It’s…distracting. Or whatever.” 

Beca hadn’t, at the time, realized her mistake, because Chloe not only decided to wear the exact tank top in question, but she also changed into the sports bra that was a size smaller than the others, pushing her cleavage up and out in a way that made Beca outwardly groan when she got into the car. “You’re going to kill me,” she had said, which made Chloe grin mischievously, tiptoeing fingers up Beca’s arm until the reached her neck. 

“Well, that just won’t do,” she had whispered, laughing when Beca shivered at the touch of her breath against the shell of her ear. 

The reaction - flustered, overwhelmed, and, frankly, speechless - is exactly what Chloe could’ve predicted from Beca, and so when Beca stood in the center of the dance floor with her hand placed on her hip and her lips stuck out in a pout, Chloe didn’t pick up the role of defense right away. It took her, actually, a few seconds of gaping before she could respond. 

“Chlo,” Beca whined, stopping the music. Her shirt, two sizes too big, was falling off of her shoulder, and she had a free curl that was framing her face. “I can’t get this move. You’re going to have to show me.” 

“Just run through it another time, we’ve got to move on,” Chloe said mindlessly, hardly looking at Beca. 

“No,” Beca said sharply, drawing the attention of the other Bellas. When Chloe looked up, the other girl’s eyes were pinpointed on her. “I need you to show me. With your hands. Please.” 

It turned out that Beca had never been introduced to the kind of power that playing such a game would result in, and, if Chloe’s observations counted for anything, it was clear she was quickly realizing why Chloe liked it so much. 

Though, she was less than subtle about playing. If Chloe had to complain about one thing. 

Because the next day, she heard a familiar set of beats coming from the speakers stationed in the kitchen, and when she walked downstairs, she found Beca doing the dishes, her hands rolling over the edges of plates lined in suds. On her lips were the words of Titanium, and on her hips was the basic rhythms. CR, Stacie, and Amy were stationed at the counter, all engrossed in their own activities without any knowledge of the song or it’s importance, so when Chloe stormed into the room with a “What do you think you’re trying to pu–” the other girls looked up, confused. 

Beca turned around, her eyebrow raised. “Is there a problem?” 

“What?” Chloe asked, her cheeks reddening. “No, no just…” The song hit it’s bridge at the same time that Beca reached over the counter to put some plates in their place, and Chloe, despite herself, shivered. Which, really, would’ve been humiliating enough (in her defense, it had been a long day, locked up in her room studying for another lit exam, and if there was one thing she was good at it was letting her mind wander), if Beca hadn’t noticed. She walked forward toe to heel like a cat stalking it’s prey, and Chloe cursed herself for giving Beca any kind of reference for this type of behavior. 

“Are you cold?” Beca asked, her voice faking innocence. She reached out, a hand on Chloe’s neck, and the redhead flinched. 

“No, I’m…fine.” 

“You sure?” Beca asked, her smile creeping out from beneath her fake concern. “Cuz I could probably warm you up pretty quickly.” 

Chloe squeaked, turning away from Beca and briefly meeting the eyes of the other Bellas in the room, all of whom refused - somewhat rudely - to avert their eyes and instead stared on with mouths open. 

So, Beca’s newfound skill was a surprise to them all, then. Well, that was, at the very least, reassuring? The lingering feeling of heat in her stomach, though, was not, and she slipped out of the room with no explanation as to why, hearing Beca’s cackle from down the hall. 

The game was on, without one word being spoken about it or the rules or what the winner would get, though that one seemed obvious enough, because since the game started, they would send wiggling eyebrows and pursed lips towards one another, but each would break away before the other got too close, so that by the end of the week, Chloe was  _burning_ without a hint of release. She imagined Beca felt the same, but, somehow, she gave no indication of struggle, waving a goodbye to Chloe from the doorframe of her room before she headed to sleep in her own bed for the fifth night in the row. It was enough to send Chloe headfirst into her mattress with a groan that kept her hands stationed under her weight, balled into fists. 

She refused, that Thursday night, to even leave her room, knowing that Beca would be waiting with another tactic she wasn’t sure she could handle the brunt of. Only, Amy stormed through the whole yelling, “I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream!” and Emily banged on the doors to accompany her, giggling the entire way. Chloe groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead and staring at the ceiling until she heard Stacie clear her throat in the doorway. 

“You coming?” Stacie asked sleepily. She’d been disturbed from her afternoon nap for this, and looked less pleased than Chloe did. The redhead popped up from bed, wincing at her. “Bella bonding time is important,” Stacie repeated Chloe’s words back at her, and Chloe had to fight the urge to give the other girl the middle finger which….okay, so maybe spending  _less_ time with Beca was a good thing. 

Chloe tried her damnedest to make it into the very squished car without sitting next to the girl who was donning her favorite flannel shirt, unbuttoned just so she could see the bright blue lace bra that Chloe had bought her as a gag gift a few weeks back and never really imagined her wearing. Only, the other Bellas were throwing out confused swears as to why she was stalling, so there wasn’t much of a choice, and she knew she did the wrong thing when Beca’s hand immediately found purchase on her upper thigh, running circles in the in-seam. “Missed you,” Beca said quickly, squeezing once.  Chloe squeaked, putting a hand on Beca’s and smiling sweetly. 

“Been busy,” she said through gritted teeth. Beca’s eyes trailed down to her lips, lingering there for a second before she smiled, shaking her head. 

“Sure you have,” she muttered. “But you could be  _busier_.” 

It was, needless to say, the longest car-ride of Chloe’s life, and she nearly hopped over Beca to get out of the car but she didn’t….for the obvious reason that doing that would have the _opposite_ effect of actual relief. 

She ordered in a cone - frozen yogurt, which she was mocked for by Beca, who chose the _most_ carmelized, sprinklified dessert she could get - and it wasn’t until the food started dripping off of the sides that she got an idea. They were stationed at a booth, with CR telling a story about the bet she managed to get her entire Stats class to be involved in, and Beca sat across from Chloe, her eyes trailing over her every once in a while. Chloe smiled sweetly the third time Beca’s eyes wandered to her, before she reached the cone up to her mouth and quickly licked the edges clean. 

She finished with a wink, sending Beca’s eyes slightly wider but not enough to give Chloe any sense of victory, so she reached her foot out, tangling it with Beca’s to draw her attention back. This time, she moved the cone in swirls and finished by licking her own lips and humming contentedly. “What’s wrong, Beca?” she asked. “Do you want some of this?” 

Beca cleared her throat - a sound of discomfort that Chloe missed gravely - and shook her head. Her eyes shot downward at her own cone which was in need of some attention from where it was melting profusely over her hand. Chloe followed her gaze and tutted. 

“You’re so messy,” she said, reaching out and grabbing Beca’s hand. Just like before, she licked around the edge of the cone, but lingered at the place where Beca’s hands came into contact with the cone, cleaning up the melted ice cream there too and making Beca’s eyes flutter shut for a moment before she moved away with a pop of her lips. “Better?” 

“Mmhmm,” Beca squeaked, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. It was tell-tale - the universal sign, at least to Chloe, that Beca was done for. Really, if she’d known it would be this easy, she would’ve tried these terribly obvious tactics just a touch earlier instead of enduring the nonsense Beca had put her through throughout the week. Her eyes sparkled with some semblance of success when Beca tugged at the edges of her shirt, rolling up her sleeves in some attempt at letting more air hit her. It wasn’t until she cleared her throat one more time that Chloe became aware that the rest of the Bellas in the booth had stopped talking. They were all glancing between Beca and Chloe, mute.

“Got a thing for ice cream, Chlo?” CR asked, cracking a half of a grin and letting the tension spread thinly over the air splinter slightly. The other Bellas breathed out soft laughs, though Amy let out a snort. 

“Anyone else think she was trying to make that cone feel like it never felt before?” she asked, “You know, see fireworks and all that?” 

“Gross,” Emily whispered under her breath, but both Chloe and Beca were turning redder than the cherries on top of the younger girl’s banana split. 

“Hey,” Stacie said, leaning back, “I think, kids, that what we have learned today is that Beca is one lucky lady.” 

“And judging by the way she’s been sashaying all over Ginger here, she’s going to get even luckier in no time,” Amy commented, causing Beca to cough out awkwardly. Chloe, who was embarrassed but also tickled by the way that Beca seemed to be completely outside of her own skin and shaking under the heat of everyone’s words and the humiliation attached, watched the other girl contentedly. 

“Okay, okay,” Beca said, her voice raspy and cracking. “Let’s…like…not talk about this?” 

“You can’t blame us,” Stacie argued, “You’ve been acting like porn stars all week.” 

“Only, without the porn part,” Amy added, and CR nodded in agreement. 

“Whatever,” Beca grumbled under her breath. She flinched visibly when she felt Chloe’s hand on hers. 

“Well, if it’s that obvious,” Chloe said, her voice sweet but tinged with something more, “Then no one would be surprised if we blew this popsicle stand and took one of the cars home? No? Cool.” She didn’t wait for anyone’s response, her grin breaking out and beaming at Beca’s utter shock towards her bluntness. Shoving the other girl, she nodded towards the door. “I’ve waited a week for this, this is not the time for subtleties that have already been shattered by my oral assault on the frozen yogurt.” 

Beca said nothing, maybe letting out a slight chuckle or gasp - Chloe couldn’t tell - and following the redhead quickly out of the ice cream parlor without protest. 


	203. The One with the Swapped Clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bellas figure out that beca and chloe are a thing when chloe comes to practise in one of becas shirts -hospital anon — sent by anonymous

“Chloe,” Amy asked, her voice high-pitched and assuming. She was almost squeaking, actually, and raising her hand even though the girls were all standing in a casual circle with the redhead walking towards them. Chloe nodded towards Amy, silently giving her permission to talk ( “Permission needs to be given when we’re in these hallowed halls, Cap,” she had said the first time she raised her hand at rehearsals). “What in Tasmanian hell is that?” 

She pointed towards Chloe’s chest, drawing the rest of the girls attention like a gaggle of meerkats all turning to look in one direction. Chloe looked down, pulling at the shirt she was wearing and inspecting it for issues. 

“What is what?” she asked, her search coming up empty. It was her favorite of Beca’s - just dark blue enough to bring out Beca’s eyes, and lined in black flannel so that the smaller woman didn’t feel too out of place. Somehow, it had learned to conform to Beca’s curves over the years, and like a magic pair of pants in a holy chick flick about friendship and coming of age, it also fit Chloe like a glove. 

“That shirt,” CR said suspiciously, her eyes squinted. Beca walked in then, her eyes focused on her phone so that she ran into Chloe, letting out an awkward “umph” followed by apologies to the whole group for being late. 

“What’s the deal, dudes?” she asked, slipping her phone into her pocket. The Bellas all had their eyes trained on her, standing next to Chloe. Her makeup was softer as of lately, still piled on but to a less intense effect, and there was a lightness to it all that, originally, made some of the Bellas uneasy. 

Stacie leaned over, taking Beca’s arm before the brunette could pull away and holding it tightly, bringing it up to her nose. Curiously, she sniffed. When she released Beca, she addressed the group. “Yup.” 

“What?” Beca asked. She was self-conscious, then, sniffed her own shirt and inspecting the scent of her breath. 

“You guys are being weird,” Chloe said with a clap, widening her stance so as to take command of the crew. Amy, however, held her hand up again. 

“Not so fast, Ginger,” Amy said. Out of nowhere, she pulled out sunglasses, positioning them on the bridge of her nose. She began, then, to walk around the circle with her hands on her hips, imitating a police woman. “You,” she spun around suddenly, pointing to Chloe. “Are wearing Beca’s shirt.” 

“I-I-I’m–”

“And  _youuu_ ,” Amy added with more theatricals than necessary as she pointed to Beca, “Smell like Chloe’s perfume.” 

“So? She–” 

“I am conjecturing,” Amy said, with her hand held up. “You do not interrupt me whilst I conjecture.”

Beca, surprisingly enough, stepped back with her hands held up. 

“Dear Bellas, queer and unqueer,” Amy started with her hands behind her back, “What can we assume based on the evidence here today.”

Lilly raised her hand excitedly, and Amy reluctantly called on her. Quietly, so that only Jessica heard her, she said, “I was born with a sixth toe.” 

“No one knows what you’re saying,” Amy shot at her, her act breaking for a fraction of a second. Then, “Any one else?” 

Ashely, slowly, raised her hand, looking for encouragement from the rest of the group. Amy clapped, allowing her to talk. “It means they’re doing the do?” 

“It  _means,”_ Amy said, triumphantly, “ _That they’re. Doing. The. Do.”_

 _“_ Amy, does this really need to be–” 

“Hush!” Amy said, silencing Beca. “They are in fact engaging in sexual relations with one ano–”

“Okayyyyy,” Beca said with a clap, standing out in front of Amy’s line of walking. She put her hands on Amy’s shoulders, stopping her. “That’s enough.” 

“That’s not a denial,” CR said, and Beca shot her a knowing glare. Chloe cleared her throat, straightening out the shirt. 

“Well, it’s dumb to deny the truth,” she said confidently, her hand reaching for Beca’s. “We’re…an item.” 

“And apparently we’re ‘cool mom’s too,” Beca joked, mocking Chloe for the word use. Chloe tapped her on the shoulder, rolling her eyes, which Jessica and Ashley looked on with wonderstruck eyes as if they’d never seen the interaction before in their lives. Amy, despite being the one to bring the news to light, seemed the most surprised, throwing her hands up in the air. 

“My original ratio is so off,” she grumbled, which made Beca and Chloe look at each other and laugh. Chloe, who was still holding Beca’s hand, pulled her in closer. 

“Cat’s out of the bag,” she said, wincing adorably. Beca grinned. 

“S’your fault,” she said, “You owe me five bucks.” 

“If it’s  _your_ shirt, you’re to blame too,” she said indignantly. Beca laughed, holding out her hand for Chloe to shake. 

“Fifty-fifty,” she said, and Chloe nodded, smiling. 

“Currency is…” Chloe leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to Beca’s mouth. 

“Well then I’ll take whatever I can get,” Beca joked, leaning in again. The other Bellas, then, made a series of “oohs” and “ahhs” that were to be expected of junior high students, breaking the women apart with a giggle and a roll of the eyes. 

“Please save it for behind closed doors, ladies,” Amy said seriously, commanding the crowd again, “We’ve obviously got  _real_ work to do here.” 


	204. The One With the Different Hood Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hood night, ended differently. Kiss. Not 2 minutes like the movie, fill in the gaps. That sounds like a demand, it's not. And just do your thing girl, always amazes me. -hospital anon — sent by anonymous

"You know,” Chloe said, pulling Beca closer to her. Her hands were warm where Beca’s grew cold from the fall breeze, and her breath already smelled like alcohol. Briefly, Beca considered the fact that she really should’ve taken advantage of that Boone’s Farm while it was offered. She would learn relatively quickly that snobbiness over alcohol and college parties didn’t go together well. That lesson, however, hadn’t been learned yet, which was why she was currently  _painfully_ sober whilst Chloe’s eyes were laser-focused on her lips. 

A position she did not want to be in. 

Not because she didn’t  _appreciate_ Chloe’s eyes on her lips. Actually, that was kind of nice, and, brushing aside all the ridiculous stereotypes about college experimentation, she saved that resulting feeling in her gut to address at a later date. She’d freak out about it then, but definitely not now. 

No, mostly she didn’t want to be in this particular position because her sobriety at the current moment was making her  _very_ aware of Chloe’s proximity and the intensity of her gaze, and she knew that a touch of alcohol could make that awareness at least a little blurry around the edges. 

“I think we’re gonna be really fast friends,” Chloe finished, her lips twisting up into a grin and _shit_ Beca was watching her lips now, her stare unbroken as she noted the miniscule freckle on the corner of Chloe’s mouth and the way her face beamed when she smiled. 

“Yeah,” Beca said, her voice audibly cracking. She took a breath to steady herself, trying her best imitation of confidence. “Well, you saw me naked, so…” 

And just when Beca thought that Chloe’s smile couldn’t get any wider, it did, nearly blinding Beca. She thought that it looked almost predatory - at the very least,  _unclean_ somehow, the way that Chloe’s eyes almost glassed over, and Beca had the sudden urge to cover herself, because she felt every inch of her body being inspected by x-ray vision. 

“And you  _did_ sing my lady jam,” Chloe said with the same tone as Beca, her lips pursing as she returned Beca’s wink. The brunette blushed, somehow now even more aware of Chloe’s hands in hers and the proximity that they maintained. 

“Ay,” Beca said, “You asked for it.” 

Chloe shrugged easily, pulling away from Beca so that the other girl could breathe. “Girl like you? How could I not?” 

Beca smiled then, despite herself, and the response from Chloe was a gasp. Beca looked at her quizzically. 

“Alt Robot DJ has the ability to smile?” Chloe asked jokingly. “She can be affected by compliments? This is  _quite_ the discovery, I must say.” 

“Shut up,” Beca said, shoving Chloe on the arm. “Also, Alt Robot DJ is  _not_ a new nickname. I won’t allow it.” 

“ _You_ don’t get a say,” Chloe giggled. She climbed up the seat separating them, making her way to Beca’s level before sitting and pulling Beca with her. Jesse, still by the keg in the center of the compound, looked up briefly before averting his eyes. 

 _Space_ , Beca thought,  _is a good thing. A very good thing._

“That hardly seems fair,” Beca said. Chloe let her hair fall from the back of the chair, leaning her head back. 

“Yeah, well,” she said, “Freshman vs. senior. I have the power.” 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” Beca joked, and Chloe raised her eyebrow. Then, because Beca was sober, and because this girl, for whatever reason (possibly the fact that she sang a “lady jam” naked in the shower with this woman) was making her feel both extremely nervous and all too at ease, she said, “Bit of a change in the routine.” 

“What?” Chloe asked, straightening up. 

“Just,” Beca waved with her hand, “Aubrey seems…like…something else.” 

“She’s a leader,” Chloe said diplomatically. 

“That’s a polite term for dictator,” Beca commented, though she noticed immediately that the easy grin on Chloe’s face had disappeared, replaced by a thin line and a set jaw. “Listen, I’m sorry if I…If there’s…That was probably wrong of me to say.” 

“No it’s fine,” Chloe said. “It’s true. But if I wanted the power, I would take it. She does better with that stuff. I’m here for the music. And the beer,” she wiggled the cup that she was holding, “And the pretty people.” 

Beca nodded, biting her lip. “Yeah, I guess…me too,” she said. 

“Yeah?” Somehow, Beca’s hand had ended up in Chloe’s, and she was tracing it like she was reading her palm. “I have to admit, you’re not the…acapella type.” 

“Well when you’re propositioned in a shower with a beautiful redhead and talk of lady jams, it’s hard to resist,” Beca answered with a wink. Chloe, instead of seizing up like Beca tended to do at such comments, just melted more, laughing and poking Beca once in the side. “Nah,” Beca said when they’d quieted down, “I’m doing this whole new thing where I’m trying.” Chloe hummed in understanding. “It fucking sucks.” 

“It’s kinda life,” Chloe said, and Beca nodded. “What’s the verdict? Is it worth it?” 

Beca looked out at the acapella kids, who had all gathered at the center to sing a song, holding their glasses up and bouncing slightly to the music. She spotted Jesse, who was drunk enough to lead the pack, standing on a stool from somewhere, and Amy, who was giving Bumper a piggy-back ride. Even Aubrey was down there, moving her hips in a way Beca didn’t think she could, singing - Beca imagined - perfectly in pitch. Then, she looked down at Chloe’s hand tracing hers, and how it was still warm over Beca’s coldness. She scooted further down in her chair, stealing Chloe’s cup and taking a sip. 

“I don’t know,” she said. Then, “But I think it might be.” 


	205. The One With Prom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you do a prompt where beca and Chloe are going to prom (as girlfriends) and Chloe's kinda nervous, John legend - tonight comes on and beca sings it to her — sent by bechloe-af

Beca was never the type of girl who dreamed about her prom. This much Chloe knew. So when she went through the effort of baking the cupcakes, positioning them on the hood of Chloe’s car to read “Prom?” and adding a live performance of some song Chloe recognized from the mix tapes Beca burned for her, she had to give Beca credit. From a girl who always did dream about her prom, Beca did well. 

There was no question, of course, that they would go together. Chloe started the year assuming that much, and she even picked out her dress to match the exact tint of Beca’s eyes. Two months in advance. She didn’t know why, then, she felt so uncomfortable walking through the archway set outside the door to their gym, her fingers tracing a beat against Beca’s palm to quell whatever nervous shiver was spreading up her arms. 

“You okay?” Beca asked, pulling Chloe in so that she could whisper it without the photographer stationed at the door noticing. Chloe pulled a tight smile, nodding, and it was hardly enough to convince Beca was Chloe was feeling anything short of the discomfort experienced when someone was pulling a splinter out of their foot. “What, is it the dress? Do I look alright? I knew I shouldn’t have d–”

“You look beautiful,” Chloe said, her hand on Beca’s forearm. “More than, even. I never really thought it was possible.” 

“Shut up,” Beca grumbled. Her lips were pulled tight in a smirk she was trying to hide, and she averted her eyes. It was adorable, and Chloe said so. “I  _said_ shut up,” Beca responded. She took Chloe’s hands, wiggling them to the dancefloor. “If you won’t tell me what’s wrong,” she started, “Then I’ll just have to dance it out of you.” 

“Beca,” Chloe cautioned, her feet as planted on the ground as they could be. Beca raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. “I don’t want to.” 

“Bullshit,” Beca scoffed. She was still tugging at Chloe’s hands. “This is  _prom,_ Chloe Beale. Every single terrible sitcom has told me this night is important.” She paused then, her eyes bugging out. “Oh, is it the whole prom  _night_ thing? Because, my dear, it hasn’t ever made you nervous befo–”

“Beca!” Chloe squealed, slapping her on the arm. “No,” she giggled, matching Beca’s laughs. “No no no. I’m just…I don’t know. Being here. With you. And everyone. And all this. It’s….” she waved her hand in front of her face. “Whatever.” 

“Hey, Babe,” Beca said softly, pulling Chloe closer. Somehow, they’d made it to the dance floor - or close enough near it to not be questioned. Beca fiddling with Chloe’s strap, straightening it were it had been twisted. “It’s gonna be alright.” 

They weren’t moving to the music, choosing instead to sway slightly and occasionally hitting the beat, but Beca took a breath and started singing along with it - her voice laughably serious where the lyrics were lacking in emotion. 

“Baby, tonight’s the night I let you know  
Baby, tonight’s the night we lose control  
Baby, tonight you need that, tonight believe that  
Tonight I’ll be the best you ever had….”

“Beca,” Chloe said, suppressing her giggles. The other girl looked up at her, an eyebrow raised and a lip being bitten. 

“Don’t interrupt me during my ballad,” she said seriously, taking another deep breath before continuing. 

“I don’t wanna brag, but I’ll be  
The best you ever had

I don’t wanna brag, but I’ll be  
The best you ever had.”

“Mmmm,” Chloe said, leaning into Beca. The rest of the room was moving to what seemed to be a different song, and all Chloe heard was the strange innocence of melody that Beca brought to the words. “Beautiful.” 

Beca snorted then, pulling away and staring. “You’re so easy.” 

“Shut up,” Chloe said this time, shoving Beca lightly. The other girl just laughed more, holding her hands up. 

“Sorry! Just always putty in my hands as soon as I start singing,” she said, finishing the last note in a tune. Chloe shook her head, choosing not to indulge Beca more with a response. They continued swaying, enough so that the rhythm and the hum of Beca’s chest allowed Chloe to calm down enough to breathe more deeply than when she walked in. Beca felt the shift, and sang the chorus one more time, a little louder. 

By the end of the song, Chloe was almost asleep - though she’d  _never_ admit that - and the electric symph was playing over the speakers as “What is Love” started spreading throughout the room. Chloe’s mouth fell to the floor and then she squealed, bouncing up and down. “We _have_ to dance!” 

“Alrighty then,” Beca said, rolling her eyes. “I guess it doesn’t take much to pull you out of your funk, does it?” 

Chloe ignored her, pulling her ever more into the crowd of people. 

“If I would’ve known, I would’ve just sung Haddaway in the parking lot to avoid this mons–”

“Beca,” Chloe said, pulling Beca close and starting to move her hips. “Shut up. Now we’re _actually_ going to dance, so cut the shit.” 

“You run a tight ship,” Beca said jokingly, but Chloe stared her down, and she weakened just enough to push out a “sorry”. 

And with Chloe dancing nonsensically to the sound playing over the loudspeakers, sorry was really all that mattered. 


	206. The One With Outed Beca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> highschool!au prompt where beca is super moody and she gets outed as gay and then cause they're all dicks at her school she gets badly bullied for it and then popular chloe comes in and goes like "me too" and idk man this is shitty sorry — sent by anonymous

She’s not really sure where the rumor started, or who it started with, except that in high school these things spread with the same amount of speed and scandal as Herpes, enough so that by the end of the day, the side-eyed glances and suspicious stares became a word scratched into her locker. 

Her father always called her quiet. Maybe, at times, if he was pushed, he would call her “sensitive”. “Susceptible to the ragged emotions of youth” he would say with a flourish when there were guests over, and Beca would wince, ducking her head to put back in the headphones he had asked her to remove before dinner. They were, at the very least, a semi-polite way of saying that she was a moody loner who was suffering through high school like every teen angst novel, only without the best friend and boyfriend to wax poetic to. 

She always preferred the term solitary - saw her life in the present as a small bubble that would carry her, albeit alone but floating, to wherever she needed to be. For now, she was stuck, but all bubbles had to pop, and she’d seen the Wizard of Oz enough times to imagine that - without the ridiculous amounts of pink and glitter - she would one day, like Galinda, end up on the end of that yellow brick road. 

These were terms she could handle. Some, even, she applied to herself, wearing them like armor throughout her sludge from class to class. They were simultaneously costumes and snuggies, keeping her safe behind rings of eyeliner and holes in her ears. She wore them even when they were heavy, because she was in control of their use. People called her a loner because she wanted them to. People called her invisible because she deemed it so. 

The word that was scratched on her locker was not a label she put on for herself, like a new jacket she thought she would try out. She didn’t softly guide it into her life, letting it slowly become an essence of her identity like all the others. No. The word scratched on her locker assaulted her in all its suddenness and all its strength, like one morning she’d woken up to find that she was embodying an entirely different life than she thought. 

She reached up, her fingernails scratching against the indent, curling over the harsh “D” that announced the insult. Behind her, she felt the stares. Heavy. Like the words, only worse, because this was somehow more tangible, and it burned in the back of her throat. She turned around slowly and was attacked by the sudden image of a beast turning to meet the angry villagers, hunched over and pleading for life. So, to break that, she held her hands into fists, nearly letting a snarl tear from her lips. 

“So what?” she said, her voice still shaky. She ran her tongue over her front teeth, holding her chin up. She pointed, her hand visibly trembling, to the vandalism. “What’s your point here?” 

There was a voice from the crowd around her - Beca couldn’t quite identify where it came from - that shouted a “You’re gay” her way. At that, everyone chuckled uncomfortably. Beca flinched, but allowed it to be a way in which she could push herself to stand taller. 

“Yeah,” she said. She hated the pinprick feeling behind her eyelids, and the way she felt like she could cry at anytime, but the burning in her throat was cauterizing something, like now the sharp edges were flexing into something much softer. “I am.” 

The crowd shifted together, and Beca realized that they were less a series of bodies and more just one being, operating and thinking and feeling all together so that when one was uncomfortable, they all were. When one was surprised, they all were. And it was clear that Beca’s clear confession had the desired effect; no one spoke up. 

That is, until there was a break in the Universal Being - one fracture that turned everyone inward. A woman walked out from it, her red hair framing her face, her eyes wide, like she wasn’t expecting to do what she was about to do. Beca recognized her - they had choir together. She had….a voice that was really beyond description. The only time Beca thought she smiled in the entirety of her high school career was when the girl told her she should try out for a solo. It was an impossible suggestion, but it meant the girl recognized her voice - or was listening for it, or, really, just heard it at all. She was staring at Beca now, the fear in her eyes not matching the certainty that was painted over her eyebrows and down to the smirk on her lips. 

“So am I,” she said, smiling more when the crowd tore itself into individual pieces, each person reacting differently with whispers and gasps and laughs and claps. “And, Brad, I don’t really like this term,” she said, pointing to the locker behind Beca. “I’m pretty sure Coach Flanders won’t like it much either. But we can check with him and find out?” 

There was a rustle, with the perpetrator cursing profusely from somewhere within the crowd before everyone started to spread out. The show was over, and they were done, especially because the plot wasn’t what they signed up for. It was all uncomfortable for them to have the spotlight trained in the opposite direction, and Beca knew that with Chloe being one of the most popular girls in the school, this was something that couldn’t be reacted to in the moment. It needed to be discussed in bathrooms and at lunch tables, maybe lockers between classes. They needed their chance to deliberate and come up with a verdict before approaching the redhead. 

“Beat it, guys,” Chloe said, her hand on Beca’s shoulder. “And be glad I’ve got a routine tonight, because if I didn’t I would be kicking your tookies.” 

“Tookies?” Beca said on instinct, turning to Chloe as the crowd dispersed. Her eyebrow was raised in disbelief. “Did you just defend me using the word tookie?” 

Chloe shrugged. “It got the point across.” 

“Yeah, hardly,” Beca grumbled, but Chloe shoved her on the shoulder. 

“Hey, I just saved you by coming out, the least you can do is show some respect.” 

“Whoa,” Beca backed away, her hands up. “No one asked you to save me.” 

“I know,” Chloe relented. She bit her lip, fiddling with her hands. “No, I know. I was, like, riding the high of you being so….confident. Or something. Not much,” she waved her hand around her face, “Courage there for me.” 

“Dude,” Beca said. She was back in front of Chloe, looking up at her like she’d known her for more than the silent conversations they’d had over choir rehearsals. “That was brave. Don’t…like…think it wasn’t.” 

“You were braver,” Chloe said. Beca lifted her chin with her finger, so that they were looking at each other again. 

“I was bullshitting,” she admitted, and when Chloe’s eyes went wide, she rushed to correct the false assumption. “Oh, not about the gay thing. That’s…that’s, like…very true. I was just bullshitting the whole confident thing.” 

“Oh,” Chloe breathed out in relief. “Right. So was I.” 

“You’re good at it,” Beca said, cracking a grin. 

“Many  _many_ years of practice,” Chloe answered, a touch of sadness in her voice. 

Beca realized, then, that these were really the most words she’d said in that hallway. To anyone. Ever. 

She also realized that as exhausted as she felt, she didn’t really want it to stop. 

“Um,” she started, scratching her head. “Would you wanna….talk about that sometime? Or anything, really. Like, we can talk about anything. If you want.” 

“Yeah,” Chloe said, nodding. “Yeah, that would be really nice.” 

“I think so too,” Beca answered, taking Chloe’s hand and squeezing it once. The action felt strange. Not wrong, just different, and maybe more than a little bit unlike her. Still, it made Chloe beam, which was enough of a reason to  _maybe_ do it again in the future. If, like, there _was_ a future. 

“They’re gonna say things about us now that we’re,” Chloe paused to take a deep breath. “Out.” 

Beca shrugged, turning to walk to her next class with her hand still in Chloe’s. “So let ‘em talk,” she said, “I’ve always preferred listening anyway.” 

“Oh,” Chloe said with a chuckle, “We’ll get along just fine then.” 


	207. The One with the Bike Lock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @spookpocalipse requested a “you’ve chained your bike to mine and I have to wait here until you come back” AU

“Dear God,  _finally,”_ Beca grumbled when she saw the redheaded woman walking right towards her bike. Or, more accurately, the pile of metal, wheels, and chains that was, apparently,  _two_ bikes, locked together. “I don’t know why anyone needs to spend, like, five hours in the library, but you should really break up your paper-writing sessions.” 

“I’m sorry,” the woman responded. Her hair was thrown up in a ponytail, and she was wearing a light sweater. If it weren’t for the two cups of coffee she was balancing in her hands, Beca would’ve assumed she’d been having a fine day so far. When she addressed Beca, though, it was with the sort of exasperation that accompanies hours and hours of frustrating work. “Do I know you?” 

“No,” Beca said quickly. She’d been sitting by the pile of bikes, but when the redhead came to a stop at her feet, she scrambled up, wiping her hands on her pants. “Sorry. Uh, my bike is the one your bike is smothering.” 

“Oh,” the girl said. She put both the coffees down, letting her bookbag fall too. “Sorry ‘bout that, I don’t know why…”

“S’fine,” Beca said quickly. “Really, I, uh, needed the fresh air, or whatever.” 

“It’s November,” the girl said. “And you’re not wearing a jacket. You  _do_ realize you could’ve waited in the library, right?” 

“Yeah, no, totally. Totes. I,” Beca stopped to cough, looking down at the bikes. “Actually, I have zero clue why I didn’t do that. Um….” 

The woman laughed, holding out her hand for Beca to shake. “I’m Chloe,” she said, “I assumed you want to know the name of the woman that inadvertently gave you frostbite.”

“Beca. And you forget that the lack of a jacket was kind of my choice.” 

Chloe was pretty. Beca could see this even from before she’d started talking, even behind the cups of coffee and weight eyelids. There was a warmth about her, one that got stronger the longer she stayed and talked, as if she was recharging simply by being in the vicinity of another person. It was something that Beca couldn’t understand, as someone who relied on time alone to prepare herself for the next social function. Still, despite trying her best to avoid these kinds of interactions, she found herself stalling, nodding with a polite smile for what she realized what probably too long before Chloe broke the eye-contact and pointed to the bikes.

“I should fix this,” Chloe said, squatting and fishing the key out of her jean pocket. When she noticed Beca’s bike and the patterns painted across it, she gestured to it and nodded. “Spiderman.” 

“You bet,” Beca answered, nearly bumping heads with Chloe when she went down to pick up her own bike. 

“That’s kind of…” Chloe stopped when she saw Beca’s face, lit up with a determination to not hear what the redhead was going to finish that sentence with. Coughing slightly, she grinned and said, “Totally badass.” 

“You get it,” Beca nodded, “Sweet.” 

“Oh, God.” Looking back down at her abandoned backpack and coffee, Chloe realized she couldn’t carry everything while still balancing on her bike. She was good, but she wasn’t  _that_ good. 

“I can, you know,” Beca scratched her head awkwardly. “Help, or whatever. With the coffee.” 

“Drinking it or carrying it?” Chloe asked, her grin turning wide. Beca met the grin with a confidence that she couldn’t quite identify the source of. She thought that it might be coming from the fact that Chloe was standing there, waiting for her response, with just as much excited anticipation as Beca was feeling. 

It was wrong, almost, because Chloe was kind of sort of beautiful, and kind of sort of glowing, despite her library attire and overall exhaustion. And she was waiting for Beca to respond to what seemed like an invitation.

Beca wanted to tell Chloe that they were playing the game wrong, and that this should really be turned around - the players taking each other’s roles - but the words were already past her lips before she could think of a way of warning.

“Either,” she said, “Or both.” 

Chloe laughed, then, something high and breathy and easy, and handed Beca one cup. “Help me take this back, and I’ll put on a pot. How does that sound? I’ve got to properly repay you for being the idiot that locked her bike to yours.”

“It’s only fair,” Beca said with a shrug, “For giving a gal frostbite.” 

“Exactly,” Chloe said. She looked over at Beca before hopping onto her bike, her look certain and stable and pleased. Beca met it with a look that she imagined wasn’t too different. 

“I’m not complaining, though,” Beca said, more to herself than to Chloe - although she knew the other girl heard, because she could see her shoulders shrug up in a smile. “Because this isn’t half bad.” 


	208. The One with the Haunted House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Totally last minute Halloween prompt: Beca and Chloe go to a haunted house and one of them gets scared and hides in a corner, refusing to move. They eventually move but they bury their face is to the other's chest, neck, back etc. — sent by anonymous

The room is dark already - that’s kind of the point of the place - and the actors don’t really understand that Chloe’s panic is less based in their crappy face-makeup and moaning and more based in the fact that the girl who was gripping her arm tightly suddenly disappeared with a squeak and a sob. 

She tries to tell them as much, but they still hover around, refusing to break character. If she hadn’t found Beca within a few minutes, she would’ve actually lost it on them, the way that Chloe Beale almost never does, with her vein popping out from her forehead and her voice going high and squeaky. She does find Beca, though, scooted as far into the corner as possible with her eyes forced shut to the point that there’s wrinkles around them.

“Beca?” Chloe asked hesitantly, reaching out and trying to hold tight when Beca winces at her touch. “Beca, it’s me. It’s just me.” 

Beca finally opens her eyes then, one eye and then the other, and takes a deep sigh when  she sees Chloe. She puts her hands on Chloe’s shoulders, and the redhead realizes they’re shaking. 

Beca had said it was a bad idea to go in. She didn’t like scary things, not nearly as much as she would pretend she did, and dark rooms with many people only made that worse. But Chloe was a fan of “experience”, preferring to say yes over no most times she was given the chance, so she dragged Beca in almost kicking and screaming, and accepted the pain that came with her hand being squeezed hard enough to break bone. 

But now, with some soundtrack of Halloween noises playing in the background of Beca’s nervous breaths, Chloe was beginning to regret that decision. The scream she heard earlier was cute, yes, but this was verging on scary, even for Chloe. 

“We can leave,” Chloe said. “Just take my hand and we can leave.” 

Beca shakes her head quickly, her eyes flitting up to the people stationed around the room, and Chloe sighed. “Okay,” she said, scooting to the wall and facing Beca. “Okay.” 

The brunette sat like that for an extended period of time, squeezing Chloe’s hand every once in awhile to acknowledge that she was still present. After a few minutes, she leaned her head into Chloe’s chest, taking a shaky breath. Chloe moved her hand over Beca’s head, pressing her hair down. Chloe tried again. 

“Let’s just get through,” she said, “And I’ll keep you safe.” 

She could  _hear_ the reluctance in Beca’s sigh. But she needed to move the girl before the next group of visitors came in, or she’d freak out even more. So she moved to her feet, squatting, and pulled Beca up with her. The girl was weak on her knees, but still was able to walk, just slightly behind Chloe with both hands squeezing her shoulders enough to make bruises the next day. 

Anytime anyone jumped out at them, Beca buried her head in her back, jumping and squeaking enough to signify to Chloe that they needed to speed up. Occasionally, she would be pushed forward, immediately falling back into Chloe’s chest so that her eyes were completely shielded. Still, Chloe kept walking, determined to carry them out despite the constant stream of “No no no no no” that was coming from Beca’s mouth. 

It was all so quick, so heavy, and so blanketed in perspiration and fear that when they made their way to the back of the haunted house, exiting, the air almost  _tasted_ sweet. Beca let go of Chloe immediately, taking in one deep, shuddering breath. 

“Don’t say it,” Beca grumbled, holding out a hand. Chloe took it, though, and leaned close to the other girl. 

“You were scared,” Chloe drawled. “And it was adorable.” 

“Whatever,” Beca muttered. “Don’t forget the beginning of the whole ordeal. You,” she said, pointing to Chloe’s chest, “Are a screamer.” 

“Well, this we already knew,” Chloe answered with a wink. “No, I’ve got apple cider at home with our name on it, so let’s go missy.” 


	209. The One with the Bad Blood Costumes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wait but also like, all the bellas (aubrey too of course) dressed as the squad in Taylor's video Bad Blood. please. i'm dying. — sent by riversgron

“I  _really_ don’t get the point of this,” Beca groaned, fixing the black wig that had shifted on it’s own. She pursed her lips in the mirror, examining the dark purple on them, and then fixed her gloves. 

“That’s because you’re just dressed like a high school version of you,” Chloe said easily from the hallway. She’d forced Beca into the bathroom moments ago with a costume on the hanger and specific instructions. The only reason Beca was following through was because she would be locked into the bathroom until she did, and because Chloe was dressed in leather and knee-high boots, which didn’t help much in the way of protesting. “Besides,” Chloe said when Beca finally emerged. “It’s funny. She’s Taylor…you’re Selena…”

“And we’ve got bad blood?” 

“Well,” Chloe bit her lip, considering. “Yeah, kinda.” 

Beca couldn’t argue with that, still holding the weight of their fight at rehearsal that morning - just one of many. The other Bellas stood down the hall, either leaning on the side of the wall or snapping selfies. 

Aubrey was dressed just how Beca would expected - a corset top that was entirely too tight, with makeup that wasn’t too different from Beca’s everyday wear and a ponytail that stood at the very top of her head. 

CR had gone for the Kendrick Lamar look because “none of you bitches can pull that off”, while Fat Amy was fighting hand to fist with Aubrey about the cigar in her hand. 

Aubrey, sure enough, had a bright red wig that made Chloe’s hair pale in comparison, the look of ferocity in her eyes somehow intensified by extra eyeliner. 

They were a squad, that’s for sure. For what, Beca wasn’t entirely sure. Still, when she walked out of the room, she was met with a chorus of hoots and hollers that was enough to make her feel comfortable in the heels she had put on, and she actually smiled before slipped a red solo cup out of Chloe’s hand and finished it off. 

“One time, I used a band-aid to fix a bullethole,” Lilly said quietly, suddenly appearing on Beca’s side. The other girl shivered slightly at the contact, but the rest of the Bellas shrugged, heading out with portable speakers on the shoulders, the song that would carry them through the night just beginning to be heard.


	210. The One with Apple Picking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I'm going apple picking tomorrow so, Prompt: Bechloe apple picking? — sent by anonymous

Beca hated to admit it, but she was a small person. There was very little in the way of protection against the cold, and even less when she refused to wear the puffy coats that some of the other Bellas did to stay warm. 

In her defense, though, it was  _October_. She shouldn’t  _have_ to think about winter coats. And, on top of that, it’s not like she went outside very often in the first place. Grass and trees and wind and sun…It wasn’t really ever on Beca’s itinerary of interest. 

Chloe knew all of this, almost begging Beca to put something different on before they left for the orchard, but she hated sounding like a mom and “You should probably put on a jacket” was decidedly mom-like. 

So as they walked through the aisles of trees, when Chloe noticed Beca shiver, she poked the girl lightly. 

“I  _told_ you I didn’t want to come,” Beca said through gritted teeth, and Chloe just laughed at her. 

“You totally did, though,” Chloe said confidently. “Sometimes you need someone to tell you that’s what you want.” 

“The fact that you think that explains a lot of our interactions, Chlo.” 

The redhead stopped their walk, examining a tree in front of them. She pointed to it, turning to Beca. “This one?” 

“I don’t fucking know!” 

Chloe grabbed Beca’s arm, pulling her closer and weaving her arm in the other girl’s. She leaned her head to Beca’s shoulder, considering the tree. “It feels right,” she said, “Now, introduce yourself.” 

Beca broke herself off of Chloe, glaring. “I am  _not_ doing that.” 

“You are about the rid this tree of it’s fruits. Be a gentlewoman and introduce yourself.” 

Beca stared at Chloe for a few seconds, finally realizing that the determined set of the redhead’s jaw wasn’t going to relent. Rolling her eyes, she turned to the tree. Under her breath, in one breath, she said, “Hello, tree, I’m Beca.” 

“It’s never going to let you make it naked with that game,” Chloe said. Beca shot her a death-look. The redhead put her hands up, stepping forward and wrapping her arm around Beca’s waist. “But, okay, fine, that works. Hey, tree. Don’t freak out. We’re just gonna…” she reached one hand up to an apple that hung just above her head, plucking it with one flick of her wrist. “See? Not so bad.” 

“You are  _not_ consoling the tree right now,” Beca grumbled, but Chloe just poked her in the side again. She held up the apple in front of Beca’s face, peeking out around it. 

“Worth it,” she said, throwing the apple to Beca and turning around before she had the chance to see Beca try - and fail - to catch it right off the bat. By the time she’d picked it up from the grass, Chloe already had three more apples in her hand, transferring them over to Beca without question. 

“I don’t have the hands for this,” Beca commented, struggle to hold all the fruit. Chloe giggled, reaching up just enough for a sliver of skin to peek out from under her sweater. She spun around quickly, though - too quick for Beca to look more - and held another apple directly in front of Beca’s face. 

“Then use your mouth,” she said, popping the apple between Beca’s teeth. When she smiled, the sides of her eyes crinkled, and Beca swore she could hear music playing somewhere. 

“That’s not the first time you’ve said that to me,” Beca said, around the apple, which sounded more like “Ash nah a irsth mime you’b saib ath oo me”. 

Biting down, the rest of the apple fell from her mouth and in order to protect it, the other apples fell. Chloe looked over, taking the bitten apple and crunching once into it. 

“Crass,” she commented. “And cute.” She took another bite, looking at the apple thoughtfully. “And  _delicious_.” 

Beca tiptoed up behind Chloe, ignoring the dropped apple and reaching around the redhead to pluck the apple from her hands. She took a bite first, dropping the core to the ground, before pressing her lips to the back of Chloe’s neck. 

“Exactly.”


	211. The One with Pumpkin Carving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Established bechloe carving pumpkins — sent by anonymous

When Beca was determined, focused, she tended to stick out her tongue, furrowing her brows so that there was a wrinkle between them. Her cheeks would grow rosy with concentration, and it frequently took more than a little force to push her out of her haze. 

Chloe thought, briefly, that she should be more afraid of Beca when she wore that look whilst holding a knife. But, mostly, she just found it unbearably adorable. 

Because sitting next to her - well, actually, standing, but at the counter stool she was same height standing as Chloe was sitting - Beca was wearing her only turtleneck (the one she used the first time Chloe left a certain mark on her neck, and only took out for those occasions or when she was feeling particularly cozy), her hair thrown up in a hasty bun, with a nose still pink from the hours they’d spent picking out pumpkins. 

It was really more of an ordeal than it should’ve been, the pumpkin-picking activity, but Beca was never an easy shopper, and when it came to gourds, apparently, she was no different. If she was spending money, well, then, it had to be perfect. 

Or perfectly imperfect. 

Because Beca had picked out the only misshapen pumpkin in the entire patch, one that was dented on the side with a stem that was over-compensating beyond belief. There were three bumps on the surface, which, according to Beca, “added personality, of course”. It had taken a half hour of Chloe holding up a pumpkin, one eyebrow raised with the hope of satisfying the other girl before Beca saw from across the field what she proclaimed to be the “pumpkin love” of her life. 

A love which she was currently dissecting into what was quickly looking to be just a series of abandoned scratches and cuts. If she was going for “a pumpkin that just got in a fight with a cat”, well, then, it was perfect. 

Chloe, on the other hand, was a touch less involved. She could blame the way Beca’s face, bent in determination, was so adorable it was distracting. Or she could blame the fact that she’d had just enough hard ciders to lose focus via “The Monster Mash”. 

But, as Beca so kindly pointed out halfway through her carving, “It’s not gonna bite, Babe.” 

Chloe tutted, inspecting the pumpkin again and wiping away a spot of dirt. When she lifted up the lid of the pumpkin, she grimaced. “It’s like guts and stuff…”

“No duh,” Beca said, pulling the pumpkin towards her. She reached in without fanfare, grinning when she picked up a pile of pumpkin-intestine, complete with strings hanging from her hand. “Oooooooh, so scaryyyy,” she sang. Her hand came closer to Chloe’s face, dangerously close, in fact, before the redhead squirmed, pulling away. Beca laughed, plopping the insides out on the newspaper they’d laid out previously. “Come on, Chlo, judging by your high school stories, your hands have been in grosser places.” 

“Beca!” Chloe gasped, giggling slightly, and shoved Beca. The other girl grabbed Chloe’s wrist as she tried to pull it away, bringing it closer to her face. 

“You,” she said, using the hand as leverage to walk closer to Beca, “Have interrupted the process of my art production.” 

“Tough,” Chloe huffed. “You’re forcing me to partake in the vicious murder of squash.” 

Beca pursed her lips, considering. Two fingers were still wrapped around Chloe’s wrist, but she stuck her other hand in the pumpkin again, bringing it up with a wider grin than before. “I’m really sorry about that,” she commented, holding tight as Chloe squirmed to get out of her grip. “But….” 

Dumping some of what was in her hand out on the newspaper, she was left with just enough to cover a few of her fingers, reaching up and spreading it on Chloe’s forehead. Chloe squealed just as she reached back, plucking a seed from the pile and sticking it to Chloe’s nose. “Sometimes it’s better to just dive into the fears face first.” 

“Beca…I swear to God…” Chloe said between gritted teeth. She reached for Beca’s pumpkin, but the brunette side-stepped directly in her way, so that all Chloe could get to was her shoulders. 

“You’re not touching my jack’o’lantern, woman,” Beca said quickly, her eyes holding a steely gaze. Chloe grunted, wiping the seeds from her head with her tongue sticking out. 

“This is disgusting,” she said, and Beca laughed. She picked the seed from the tip of Chloe’s nose, replacing it with a kiss. 

“Yeah,” she said, wincing. “It kinda is.” 

Chloe reached out to the pile, flicking it in Beca’s face quickly. The other girl hardly responded. 

“As an artiste, though,” she continued, looking into Chloe’s pumpkin and taking out another handful. Chloe winced instinctively, but realized as soon as Beca put the pile down that the game was over. After scraping a few of the edges, Beca looked up at Chloe with a sly grin on her face. “I like to get dirty.” 

“Oh yeah?” Chloe answered with a grin. She leaned closer to Beca, taking her wrist - and actively avoiding the pumpkin-gut-hand - and moving it around her so that Beca’s arms were at both of Chloe’s sides. Beca’s eyes moved to Chloe’s lips in an instant, her own flickering up in a smirk. She nodded lightly before moving in, pressing her lips against Chloe’s. 

When she pulled away, she licked her lips, shaking her head. “You  _taste_ like pumpkin,” she said, pretending to gag. Chloe slapped her on the back of the head. 

“That’s  _your_ fault.” 

Beca shrugged. “You’re the one who wanted to decorate for the holiday, weirdo. Now, get to work on your masterpiece, please. I don’t want it to be offended when it’s brother over here is better looking.” 


	212. The One Where They Used to Know Eachother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: i was pretending like i know you from a long time ago as a ruse to get you away from this creepy guy who won’t stop hitting on you but it turns out i actually DO know you from a long time ago, oh my god hi how are you holy shit you got hot — sent by snowpocalipse

Chloe wasn’t one to get jealous. Not ever  _genuinely_  jealous in a way that spurred her to action. Of course, she felt the niggling in the back of her mind that came along occasionally - anyone who preferred to have eyes on her wasn’t someone who was never…envious. But jealousy was rare. Particularly when it was aimed at a stranger, for a stranger, and burned strong enough to prompt feelings of protectiveness. 

That was what she was feeling now, watching the girl at the bar with a hand gripping her drink in a very silent plea for help as she talked to a man who was at least half a body length taller than her and leaning closer by the second. 

She told herself, though, that it was less jealousy and more of a general “sisterhood” feeling of needing to pull this woman out of the situation she had gotten herself into. Because it was pretty clear that the girl wasn’t enjoying herself, and Chloe couldn’t exactly figure out whether she would be grateful for someone to come to her rescue or weirded out that Chloe recognized she needed help in the first place. 

Regardless, the redhead tended to act on her feelings most of the time - it was both something that got her in trouble many times over, but something that brought her unexpected good things more times than not. So she scooted off her own barstool and walked over to the woman without once second-guessing herself. Her steps were steady, her breaths sure, and that made slipping a hand around the girl’s waist significantly easier. 

“Oh my god,” she said, her voice feigning excitement. She fought the confusion that the woman was sending out in waves, deciding that if that improv group she was a part of in high school was going to come in handy anywhere, this was it. “What’re the chances that I would find you here?” 

“Uhm…” The woman looked up at the man who was lurking over them, watching the interaction in a way that was, admittedly, polite, if not a little perturbed by the interruption. Which was just enough to push Chloe onwards. 

Pulling the girl into a hug, Chloe whispered to the girl. “Go with it,” she said, “He’s already waning.” 

The woman pulled back, eying the redhead cautiously. Chloe threw out her most friendly grin, her hand running lightly over the girl’s shoulder. 

In third grade, the most popular girl in school told her that her smile was “creepy”. In seventh grade, her mom told her that it was very “engaging”. Chloe knew that throughout the years she never really learned to hone down the enthusiasm that she passed through her smile, though she did realize that it could throw a few people for a loop. 

This girl, though, didn’t seem to be bothered by the face that Chloe was radiating, and in fact met the redhead’s smile with one of her own - albeit a bit more forced, but still unwavering. 

“It’s so good to see you,” she said, pushing a hair behind her ear. Chloe nodded excitedly, turning towards the bar. 

“Have you…are you, like…Bartender!” Chloe had been pointing to the half-empty drink of the counter before calling the attention of the man behind the bar, her hand still wrapped around the smaller girl’s waist. She noticed when she looked back that the woman was stifling a chuckle with her her hand, and it made her laugh too. 

Because thank  _God_ this was working, and thank  _goodness_ the guy seemed to be backing up slowly over the minutes that they spent throwing around innocent small talk. 

He was too much of a dolt - or maybe already too many drinks in - to realize that they hadn’t said each other’s names once, and were talking in such vague terms that really anyone (well…anyone  _else_ ) could see that they weren’t too familiar with each other. He was almost out of Chloe’s periphery completely when she leaned close enough so that the man couldn’t hear her say anything. 

“Okay,” she said conspiratorially, “So in return for saving you, you owe me one thing.” 

The girl chuckled, shaking her head. “And what is that?” 

“Hmmm,” Chloe tapped her chin thoughtfully. “You know, I could do a lot with this, but I’m thinking that I could settle for your name.” 

The woman looked at her surprised for more than a few seconds before reaching out suddenly to grab her drink, biting her lip. 

“What?” Chloe asked, watching her. “Is that not an acceptable form of payment?” 

“No, uh…” the woman scratched the back of her head for a second, sipping the drink. “I…You kind of know me. Or whatever.” 

Chloe squinted at her, staring unabashedly as the woman looked uncomfortable under her gaze. She outlined the thick eyeliner covering the woman’s face and the braids that were running in buns around the back of the woman’s head, strands of hair hanging around her face. She was wearing all black - a lace top, black blazer, and black skinny jeans. It was goth, professional chic, with a touch too much of “goth” and “chic” for Chloe to have recognized her from work or the small cul-de-sac that she associated with most of her childhood social life. It was only when she looked down and saw the combat boots that were worn down enough for the woman to have applied one strip of duct tape to keep the toe intact that her breath fell from her face into her stomach, being replaced by a blush. “Beca,” she said. Or, really, gasped. “Beca Mitchell.” 

“At your service,” Beca saluted awkwardly, still shifting under Chloe’s gaping glance. 

“Oh my god,” Chloe breathed, this time the words coming out as much more sincerely shocked than when she’d said it previously. She meant it, too, because…this was very much _not_ the Beca Mitchell she’d known in high school. 

The last time she’d seen those boots, they were walking down the center aisle for graduation, or, rather, sulking down the aisle. The gown was really too long for Beca’s legs, and seeing her wear white was an experience the entire class had wanted to see. She balanced out the lack of black by outlining her eyes so thickly Chloe had thought she wasn’t sure if she could see her face, and her hair was still wet from a shower. 

She looked, very clearly, like she didn’t want to be there. Which was how she looked every single day of high school, or at least the moments Chloe’d passed by her, with the exception of the moments she was standing behind the stage. Chloe remembered it now, all frizzy hair and ill-fitting t-shirts standing behind the curtains and painting sets while she performed - singing or acting or dancing or whatever combination thereof that was required of her. Beca, the theatre girl in a way that Chloe very much was not. The back stage girl. The behind the scenes girl. 

Sure, Chloe wasn’t someone who viewed herself as superior because she stood in the spotlight. She was friends with nearly everyone - cast  _and_ crew - with the meager exception of Beca, who had alluded her since freshman year, not because she was trying to catch her and couldn’t but because Beca never really…presented herself in a way that wanted to be caught. 

Okay, so, she wasn’t hot. That was it, at it’s core, and Chloe winced at the kind of girl she was in high school - not mean necessarily, but definitely ignorant. Or centered on herself and her immediate surroundings. Either way, the woman standing in front of her would’ve made high school Chloe  _melt._ The universe had a nasty way of doing that, didn’t it? Making your past self eat it’s own words - or, in this case, it’s own  _lack_ of words. 

“You look…different,” Chloe finally said when she realized she was still staring. Beca looked down, blushing, and Chloe thought she saw it. Barely, but it was still there. That pale girl from behind the scenes, who, if Chloe remembered correctly, she’d caught singing one day after rehearsals and spent the better part of two minutes trying to convince to audition. 

She realized now she probably should’ve tried a touch harder. 

But she was realizing a lot of things now. 

The most significant was that Beca Mitchell was hot. 

Okay, so that was already mentioned. But it had a way of being mentioned several times over in Chloe’s thoughts over the next several moments she spent trying to get herself to say something. Anything. So it bares mentioning again. 

“You look exactly the same,” Beca said, her hand sweeping up and down to gesture at Chloe. The girl flourished, bowing, and Beca laughed. 

“Beca Mitchell is standing at a bar in a blazer and laughing at me,” Chloe said, more to herself than to the other woman. “Beca Mitchell is  _laughing_.” 

“Shut up,” Beca grumbled, taking Chloe’s drink and downing it. “Leave it up to Ms. Sunshine herself to only remember my general state of apathy and  _only_ my general state of apathy.” 

“Not true,” Chloe chirped, taking her drink back. “I remember your eyeliner too.” 

Beca rolled her eyes, and Chloe snapped. “And that!” she said excitedly, “The eye-rolling!” 

“What a legacy I leave,” Beca mused. Chloe eyed her for another second, then spoke up. 

“But you remembered me,” she said, “So what gave it away?” 

“Lack of personal boundaries,” Beca started to list off with her hand, “Tendency to get involved in other people’s business, and–” she held her hand up at Chloe’s protestations, “The need to help people who need it.” 

Chloe shrugged. “And here I thought it would be the red hair.” 

“That too,” Beca said, shrugging. “I always did have a thing for redheads.” 

Chloe’s eyes grew two sizes bigger, her mouth opening in a shit-eating grin. 

“Don’t say it–”

“I  _knew_ you liked gi–”

“I’d have liked  _someone_ in our graduating class to not be surprised by that,” Beca grumbled, but Chloe only laughed more. 

“You were kinda the after-school sitcom stereotype for a queer girl, Becs,” Chloe said. She called the bartender for another drink before turning to the brunette. 

“And you?” Beca asked, her grin widening. Chloe thought, briefly, that if she’d smiled more in high school, Chloe  _definitely_ would’ve remembered her. 

Because, wow. 

“And me, what, Ms. Mitchell?” Chloe asked, feigning innocence. 

“You were the poster-child for closeted cheerleader.” 

“I never was a cheerleader,” Chloe argued. “And there aren’t any metaphorical closets in my life.” 

“You sure about that?” Beca asked, watching the girl. 

“Positive,” Chloe hummed, sipping her new drink. She let the silence stretch for half a second, enjoying what passed between them before she continued. “I got rid of them a long time ago.” 

“Oh my god,” Beca said, looking up at the ceiling with glee. “This is….”

“Crazy,” Chloe nodded, finishing the sentence. “Yeah.” 

“We should…” Beca bit the side of her lip, picking at her finger. Chloe subconsciously leaned forward, pursing her lip and raising an eyebrow. “Like…talk about that sometime.” 

“We’re talking about it right now,” Chloe countered, her voice mocking. Beca rolled her eyes again, and Chloe was surprised by the way it tugged at something in her gut. After a second of silence, Chloe broke out in laughter. “Beca Mitchell, are you asking me out?” 

“Shut up,” Beca said, stepping back. “I’m not…” she sighed, throwing her hands out. “What if I am?” 

Chloe grinned wider. “Well, then, I’d tell you that we can go out, but I already have a date to formal, so don’t make it weird.” 

“God,” Beca grumbled. Chloe’s hand had made it back to her waist somehow. Her hand. On Beca Mitchell’s waist. 

High school her was  _so so very_ dumb. 

“That’s a yes, by the way,” Chloe clarified, chuckling when Beca breathed out an annoyed huff. 

“Thanks for the clarification.” 

“There it is,” Chloe joked, waving her finger in Beca’s face. The girl flinched from it, her eyes questioning, so Chloe laughed before she said, “That’s the girl I used to know.” 

“Only I look different now,” Beca quipped, her eyes already mid-roll. Again. Really, a record at this point. 

“Only you  _smile_ now,” Chloe countered, her eyes flitting to Beca’s lips briefly before meeting her eyes again. “So…yeah.” 

\--

 

Chloe watched the other girl when she held the door open for her at the twenty-four hour diner across the street. 

She was about the same height, her boots adding the extra few inches they always had, and when she felt Chloe’s stare on her, she looked down, pulling her hair from her face. Chloe saw in all the moments that took them to this diner all the past Becas held within this one. Now, she saw the girl she passed in the hallway, her gaze drifting to the fringes of the locker just enough to rest on Beca, who would do exactly was she was doing now to avoid eye contact. 

“You haven’t said anything for, like, five minutes,” Beca said when they sat down at the counter. The waitress handed them laminated menus without word, moving back to the stool behind the counter and the celebrity magazine she was reading there. “If I had known you were so creepy back in high school–” 

She caught herself, looking hurriedly up at Chloe before burying herself in the contents of the menu. Lightly, the redhead shoved her, a smirk growing on the edge of her lips. “If you had known…” she prompted, “Then…?” 

“Nothing,” Beca said quickly. Chloe could recognize the blush creeping up her cheeks, accompanying the hurried shake of her head. She put a hand on Beca’s wrist, holding it there and rubbing it lightly with her thumb - her eyes were what asked the question again. 

Beca sighed and put the menu down. When she talked, her eyes jumped from Chloe to the ceiling. “Then I probably wouldn’t have had a crush on you,” she muttered, the words all flowing together in one embarrassed jumble.

“Wh _a_ t?!” 

Chloe’s squeal brought back the attention of the waitress, who just glared at the two girls before returning to the glossy pages. 

Beca was a girl who blushed. If Chloe had the brains to have realized the adorable importance this fact held, then she would’ve remembered this. Still, over the course of their talk at the bar, and now, it was becoming very clear. 

Chloe, though, was not a blusher. Never was, and never would be, despite the fact that her shade of hair  _should’ve_ cursed her with that. So, she wouldn’t have called the heat in her cheeks embarrassment or blush in anyway. 

She wasn’t sure what it was, really. She’d been flattered before, more than a few times, and this felt different. Burning red hot and spreading orange warm at the same time. 

She felt flushed. 

“Don’t make me regret telling you that,” Beca warned, pointing a finger in Chloe’s direction. The redhead rolled her eyes. 

“First of all, you weren’t the only one, sister,” Chloe said, shaking her hips from where she sat on the barstool. “Second, you never  _don’t_ regret telling your crush about…your crush.” 

“You’re using present tense,” Beca pointed out, and Chloe bit her lip to keep her smile from spreading more. She could tell by the way Beca’s eyes followed her teeth that the tricked worked just as well on her as it had for anyone else she employed it with. 

“I am indeed.” 

The waitress chose that moment, with Chloe leaning closer to Beca every second, to ask for orders, and when Chloe ordered the strawberry shake, Beca ordered the cheesy fries. They nodded politely to the woman behind the counter, but when she left, they just stared at eachother, finally breaking out into giggles. 

“Stop making this weird!” Beca said, shoving Chloe lightly. 

“I’m not!” 

“You are!” she said. “You’re…doing that thing…with your eyes.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Chloe answered. Her eyes were trained on Beca, though, in exactly the way she  _knew_ was making Beca uncomfortable. “Hey, Beca,” she said after a while. “What would you say if I told you that I have a crush, present tense.” 

“Oh really,” Beca said, her eyebrows raising. “With whom?”

“Oh, I couldn’t tell,” Chloe said quickly, laughing at the way Beca rolled her eyes. 

“You suck.” 

“No, not currently,” Chloe hummed. The waitress put her shake in front of her, and without prelude, Chloe grabbed the cherry on the top and popped it into her mouth, throwing a wink to Beca in the process. 

The girl, in response, just groaned, throwing her head back. She spun on her chair twice, standing up. 

“I make one comment implying how desperate I am and you walk away,” Chloe hummed. She could see Beca smile even with her back turned, and liked the way it seemed to alter her step somehow. The girl threw out a middle finger - one Chloe imagined she wanted to throw out a long time ago - and kept walking. When she reached the jukebox, she slapped it, turning. 

“I’m turning on music, you nerd,” she said. “Requests?” 

“Surprise me,” Chloe grinned, and the girl sighed frustratedly. In the time it took Chloe to send three texts, Beca had picked something, and the song was just starting to flow through the room. 

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Chloe said when she recognized the opening notes. 

It was her audition song. Every instant of rest and recital was committed unfailingly to Chloe’s memory. She recognized it immediately. 

Beca was still standing at the jukebox, one eyebrow raised, with her shoulder resting lightly on the top. Her lips were pursed in a challenge. 

Chloe stood up. There was something about Beca’s gaze. About her look in general, when focused on Chloe, that made her feel that same kind of Big that she felt in high school. That kind of important she’d been missing as of late. There was something about it that gave her the confidence to believe that she was the only one in the room again. 

“You  _would_ remember this song,” Chloe started. She was walking towards Beca, slowly, and her voice was lower than it had been before - enough for Beca to recognize and shift quietly from her position. “Sitting in the back row of the auditorium, watching audition after audition until I came up. And what did you think of me, hmm?” 

She’d reached Beca now, her hand jumping up the the collar of Beca’s blazer and running over it lightly. The smaller girl shivered, but tried to wipe it off as a shrug. 

“You were good,” she said simply, looking away. Chloe’s hand moved to her jaw, pulling her to stare right in her face. 

“I was the best,” she said confidently, and there was something about the way that Beca didn’t even  _try_ to object that made her feel strong. Capable. “You thought so too.” 

Beca had tried to get breathing room, but when she stepped back she slammed into the jukebox, jumping at the sudden contact. 

“It’s fine to admit it,” Chloe hummed. Her hand was in Beca’s hair now. “Because the truth of the matter was that I  _wasn’t_ the best.” She moved her mouth to be close to Beca’s ear. “You were.” 

“What?” Beca, despite the shudders running down her back, pulled away from the redhead surprised. Chloe just grinned, completely steady in her words. 

“I’ve heard you sing,” she said. “You’re good.” 

“You’re…that’s…”

“A missed opportunity, I know,” Chloe interrupted. The hand in Beca’s hair moved to her jaw, and she pushed Beca’s chin up slightly to angle her face better. “But that’s the great thing about the future,” she said quietly. The song was ending, fading out into the silence of the room with a few calm shakes of the tambourine. “You get to revisit all those missed opportunities. Again, and again, and again.” 

Beca squeaked, something high and light and so unlike the Beca that Chloe ever dreamed she’d be. Then,  _she_ was pulling at Choe, tugging her closer and pressing her lips against the redheads. 

“Right,” she said when they broke apart. Chloe saw the haze in her eyes - the way she looked faded almost - and smiled proudly. “Right, well, shit.”

“What?”

“I just kissed Chloe Beale,” she said, not fully aware enough to recognize the embarrassing sincerity behind her words. Chloe giggled, taking Beca’s hand. The waitress had put her cheesy fries on the counter minutes ago, and she had a feeling - even this early on - that Beca wasn’t the kind of person who wanted that cold. 

“Shit,” she said when they reached their stools. Beca looked up hurriedly, worried, with concern passing over all her features until Chloe’s face broke into a grin, one that was maybe too big - one that had maybe a bit too much eye contact - but Beca, throughout it all, didn’t seem to mind. 

“What?”

“I just kissed Beca Mitchell.” Beca laughed in return this time, covering her mouth to hide the howl that had come out. When she was done, Chloe shoved her camera phone into Beca’s hands, leaning closer. “I am  _gonna_ need photographic proof that this is actually happening.” 

“You’re dumb,” Beca said, shaking her head. Still, she took the camera anyway, jumping up off the stool to get a better shot. Just as the flash went off, Chloe turned her head, kissing Beca chastely on the cheek and catching her off guard. 

It would be her background for weeks.

 

\--

 

She was in the bathroom of Chloe Beale’s apartment, and somehow it looked exactly how she always imagined it would. 

Not that she had imagined it. 

Thinking about your high school crush’s life six years down the line…well, there was something distinctly unstable about that, and Beca didn’t much like to communicate the air of someone who was losing her mind, despite the ear spikes and heavy eyeliner. 

The knock on the door made Beca squeak to action, turning on the faucet just to make it sound like she was doing something. 

“How much longer you gonna be in there?” Chloe asked from behind the door, and Beca stuttered. 

“Just, uh….Like…” she looked at the mirror, wiping the makeup that had smeared under her eyes. “Just a minute.” 

Her hair was struggling to keep up the curls she carefully concocted that morning for the studio, and her makeup had gotten to the point where it made her look more sickly than beautiful, but she fluffed her hair a little more and wiped at her lips before reaching into her shirt and positioning things right where they needed to be. 

“Sorry,” she said when she stepped out of the bathroom. “Just…observing.”

“In the bathroom?” Chloe asked. She had to stand on her tiptoes to reach the top shelf of the cabinet, and when she did, her dress rode up slightly. Feeling Beca’s stare, she wiggled her hips, giggling. 

“Well, I mean, it’s not everyday I get to go to Chloe Beale’s house.” 

Chloe hummed. She had pulled a wine bottle out of the cabinet and was taking that, with two glasses over to the small living room. There wasn’t much of a transition between the rooms (or any at all, really), but Chloe made the walk somehow long, her stride accentuating her hips with a smirk. “No, I guess I never did invite you over after school.” 

Beca snorted, sitting next to Chloe awkwardly. “Like you would ever invite lowly little me over to  _your_ house after school.” 

“Oh, I seem to recall a sleep over the entire drama club was invited to,” Chloe chirped, and Beca groaned, her head hitting the back pillow. 

“That shit was just a sweaty, awkward orgy in the making sponsored by stolen peach schnapps.” Chloe laughed at that, handing Beca a glass of wine and settling down under the other girl’s arm. 

“That’s exactly why you should’ve come,” Chloe said. 

“You wouldn’t have noticed,” Beca said, swallowing the seriousness of her words with a sip of wine. Chloe’s eyes were on her, and Beca was surprised to find that she looked almost…offended. “What?” 

“I noticed you, Beca Mitchell,” Chloe said, tapping the girl on the shoulder. Beca rolled her eyes, and Chloe recognized the move from the years in high school she sat next to the girl in class. Every time someone answered a question with something stupid, Beca would snort to herself, rolling her eyes and drawing only the attention of one or two people. Most of the time Chloe. Written in her notebook, always, was the right answer. 

“You notice me now,” Beca said, “Three cup sizes later and significant practice in putting on my face properly.” 

“Beca,” Chloe sat back from her, putting her glass on the table. “You don’t think….” She looked up at the ceiling, shaking her head. The next laugh was bitter, almost, and Beca was confused by it. “You should go.” 

“What?” Beca asked, “What did I do?” 

She ran over her words in her head, looking for a possible area of error. Maybe it was presumptuous, this entire visit to Chloe’s house, but she thought that the other girl made her intentions clear enough in the diner. And on the cab ride home. 

So sue her if she might have said something - anything - that implied where the direction of the night was going. She had a feeling, though, that it wasn’t that. There was a hazy look to Chloe’s eyes and a coldness to her features that made Beca reach out, only to be shrugged off by the redhead. 

“Chloe….” 

Chloe remained silent, her arms crossed, and Beca couldn’t help but feel like it was a bit silly. They were adults now, and sure they grew up in the same school system, but that didn’t mean the other girl could act like a wounded toddler in a sandbox. She slammed her glass down on the table, walking to the door to put her shoes back on. With her back turned to Chloe, she heard the other girl speak into the quiet. 

“The fact that you think I’m talking to you now because you’re hotter is…well, if you think I’m that disgusting then this really can’t be a thing.” 

“What?” Beca spun around so quickly she nearly fell on the one shoe she had been able to put on. “Seriously? You didn’t bat an eye when I was around during high school.” 

“You wouldn’t  _let_ anyone, Beca!” Chloe was standing now, her voice shaky. “In order to be able to see you, you needed to actually stand somewhere other than the background all the time. It’s hardly my fault that we never had a conversation.” 

“I stood in the background because there wasn’t any room for me in the foreground,” Beca sneered, grabbing her jacket quickly. 

“There would be room if you made it,” Chloe said. Her voice wasn’t as angry as Beca’s. Rather, it was bitter. Or cold. Something containing despair, almost. “If you just  _auditioned_ –”

“And then what, Chlo? Been the laughing stock of the entire senior class?” 

“No! Beca, you aren’t  _listening_ to me,” Chloe plopped back down on the couch with her head in her hands. It was the pose she had her prom night, when Beca was escaping after having taken the obligatory picture her mom required for her to have the night out. Back then, she wanted to ask what was wrong, but didn’t, because she was scared and because there was a minivan with her name on it. 

Now, though, she knew that even angry she couldn’t make that mistake twice. 

“Then fucking  _talk_ , Chloe,” Beca said, though her voice was maintaining a touch of softness that made the blow less harsh. 

“You were  _good_ , Beca,” she said, sniffling. “In school. In shows. You were good. And cool. You rose above everyone else…it was like….it was like you knew what you wanted and where you wanted to be, and we were all second string. Of course I didn’t pay attention to you in high school. It’s not because I didn’t want to. It’s because you wouldn’t let me.” 

“If I knew that Chloe Beale wanted to know me, I would’ve tried,” Beca joked, taking a step closer to Chloe, and the redhead cracked a smile, shaking her head. 

“No more calling me Chloe Beale,” she said, “I’m not high school Chloe anymore. I’m not the girl you had a crush on.” 

“Not anymore, no,” Beca allowed, and Chloe looked up, worriedly. Beca sat down next to Chloe again, a hand on her back. “Which is good because I’m not the girl who had a crush on that Chloe anymore. I’m the girl who  _has_ a crush on  _you_. Remember?” 

“Present tense, and all that,” Chloe nodded, laughing. Beca nudged her lightly with her shoulder. 

“So we get to start over, you and me,” Beca said, sighing. “Different people, different places.” 

“Different cup sizes, as you pointed out,” Chloe joked, eyes aimed at Beca’s chest, and the brunette cackled. 

“Again,” Beca said when she caught her breath. She was holding up her wine glass, and Chloe clanked it easily. 

“Again.” 


	213. The One When You Need Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a really crappy and I was wondering if you could write some fluff. If not, that's cool. You're probably busy or have other stuff to do so I understand. — sent by anonymous

Beca was busy. 

Chloe was currently hurtling into a dark tunnel of unknowns, and amidst all of the questions floating around in her head, there was one thing she was absolutely confident in. 

And it was that Beca was busy. 

She had midterms, and the internship, and the Bellas, and there was no way in hell that inside that schedule - a schedule that didn’t presently allow room for sleep, or eating, or even _mixing_  - that she could make time for Chloe, of all things. 

So Chloe was having a crappy day. So what? Beca’s days were crappy ninety percent of the time lately, judging from the amount of voicemails that were clogging Chloe’s phone. Voicemails that carried variations of “I think I’m going to be a failure in what I love and also I got my boss the wrong type of latte today, and on top of it all I have a hole in my favorite shirt”. Chloe in her best mood was not in any way significant enough to pull Beca’s schedule to a hurtling stop, so the Chloe that was existing now was by no means worthy of even stepping foot on the path of that girl’s day. 

None of that stopped her from reaching for her phone, though, throughout the course of the afternoon that she was spending on the couch, alone, jumping from Netflix to the news to getting something to eat, and back again. It didn’t stop her from clicking on Beca’s name on her phone, and it didn’t stop her from typing up a text. 

It did, though, stop her from sending. 

When Beca finally came home, around midnight, she saw Chloe curled on the couch, knees touching chin, and put her bag down with a sigh. 

“You would never guess the kind of shit that happened to me today,” she said, falling face first onto the couch next to Chloe and groaning. When her words were met with silence, she shifted the face that was currently stuffed in the cushion in order to look up at Chloe. 

And Chloe, for all her earlier reasonings, tried her damnedest to put on a smile. Because Beca was busy. There wasn’t time for this. 

“Chlo?” Beca said, scooting up army-crawl style so that she was resting her chin on the legs that the redhead had just extended. “What’s up?” 

Chloe shook her head, waving her hand around her face as if to wipe away the question. “No, it’s…” she looked up. Sighed. When she talked, her voice cracked, and when her voice cracked, her eyes teared up, and if she reached that point everything else was unreachable. So she took a deep breath, steadying herself, and put a hand on Beca’s head. “It’s nothing.” 

“Chloe,” Beca admonished, taking the hand that was brushing her hair and using it as leverage to turn, hugging it to her chest. “Tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Becaaaa,” Chloe mocked the tone Beca used just as the other girl began fiddling with her fingers. “It’s literally nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing.” 

“No, that’s the thing…” Chloe’s voice caught slightly. “It’s  _nothing_. It’s nothing. I have  _no_ reason to cry. I just…I feel like it.” 

Beca was looking at her, and if Chloe closed her eyes and let her mind take over, she would’ve thought that the look carried frustration. Annoyance. A touch of anger, maybe. She would’ve thought that the look was enough to communicate a “are you seriously complaining right now?” feeling. 

But Beca was looking at her with nothing but pure concern and thoughtfulness. With eyebrows furrowed, she stayed silent, coaxing Chloe to keep talking. 

It was strange, really, how she’d spent the entire day fighting the urge to hear Beca’s voice, and here she was, feeling completely cured just by Beca’s silence. 

Chloe didn’t continue - couldn’t continue, really, because that’s exactly what it was. It was nothing. The nothingness of her calendar and the way it loomed over her, counting down to a future that was black and blue and completely indecipherable. The nothingness of the house when everyone was out, and the way it made Chloe’s schedule look bleak, empty even though it was full. The nothingness of the feeling of being heavy, being weighted down. The nothing. It was  _nothing_. So Beca waited in the silence just long enough before sitting up, spinning on her bum so that she faced Chloe, and then pulled the redhead to her. She sat there, breathing steadily, and Chloe found herself counting the other girl’s breaths. When Beca started to tap Titanium out on the palm of her hand, she laughed lightly. 

Beca kissed the top of her forehead before pressing her cheek down, resting on Chloe. She hummed once, her hands still brushing through Chloe’s hair. “You’re amazing,” she said. It was religious, almost. Not because of the awe with which it was delivered, but because of the way she said it as if it was more to herself than to anyone else. As if it was for her, and for something above, but Chloe just happened to hear it. “And you’re here. With me. You’re here. Which is amazing.” 

Chloe didn’t respond, choosing instead to press herself closer to Beca, impossibly closer, because the pressure of Beca’s body next to hers took on some of that weight. 

“I love you,” Chloe said after almost a half hour of silence. Beca shifted quietly, a way of telling the redhead she wasn’t asleep, and then she poked Chloe’s side once, lightly. 

“I love you too,” she said easily, like it was never a struggle to say the first time. Like it wasn’t at all a struggle to say now. Because it wasn’t. Not really, anyway. “Now. We have peanut butter chocolate ice cream, nachos de Mitchell, or good old pasta. Choose your weapon.” 

Chloe was tempted to protest. She wanted to, actually, because she  _saw_ how heavy Beca’s bag was, and she knew almost to T how early the girl had to wake up the next morning. But Beca was staring at her with the kind of intense determination that she  _knew_ the brunette knew what she was thinking. And she knew that fighting the comfort Beca was giving was useless. So she smiled instead, and pressed a kiss to Beca’s neck. “I need carbs,” she said. 

“Smart minds think alike,” Beca chirped. She pulled herself off the couch with a grunt that implied it was a monumental effort, which, currently, Chloe understood completely. “When I come back, we’re watching terrible television and throwing things at the TV, okay?” 

Chloe nodded once, watching the girl in front of her point a finger in her face. She thought, for more than a moment, really, about how goddamned lucky she was to have Beca. She knew that it wasn’t luck - not actually - and it wasn’t fate, but more just the pulling of two strings together until they eventually knotted. 

Either way, whatever you wanted to call it, Chloe had a woman standing in front of her who was looking at her not like she was an inconvenient invalid, but rather like she was Beca’s own personal galaxy - a thing that, occasionally, needed saving, but mostly existed in order for Beca to exist.

“Also, next time you decide to lie to me, I will end you,” Beca said seriously, heading out the room. Chloe laughed, the sound strong and clear and spreading over the house.  And Beca’s walk matched the beat of it perfectly.  


	214. The One with the Great British Bake Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: oh heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy person in the apartment next to me, no i’m not being killed by an axe murderer, i’m just emoting loudly at my television, by way of apology for waking you up would you like to join my ice cream and netflix binge-athon — sent by snowpocalipse

Chloe stood hesitantly in front of the door with one fist held up in the air, waiting. One more shout, and she’d knock. Just, like, one more. 

She had an appointment early the next morning, and it was currently past midnight. Which didn’t much stop the woman in the apartment she was currently standing in front of from shouting various things that did little to calm Chloe’s nerves. 

It took her about a half an hour of fighting the urge to check in on her neighbor before she surrendered to her overall anxiety, bringing her to her placement here, in front of her neighbor’s door, waiting for just one more shout. 

A shout that was promptly given to her within a few seconds of her standing there, with enough fueled anger to push Chloe to make the connection with the door. 

“Oh,” Chloe said when the door opened halfway through her knock. She took a step back, inspecting the woman in front of her. She looked like she was intact, relatively speaking considering the stain on her shirt  _could’ve_ been blood. Or it could’ve been pizza sauce. Judging from the state of the woman’s hair and the television that was blaring behind her, Chloe assumed the latter. “Sorry, I uh…I was hearing noises. Not like…not like  _noises._ Like I was hearing you. And I wanted to make sure you’re okay. Which seems dumb now that I know that you’re…okay…and stuff.” 

The woman stood in the doorway, a smirk pulling up at the corner of her lips. Her eyes roamed over Chloe, who looked much in the same condition as she was - donning pajama pants and a sweatshirt from college that had permanent unidentifiable stains. Chloe stepped back again, scratching at her forehead, suddenly a little concerned about her appearance and her lack of cookies. 

People brought cookies when they met their neighbors, right? 

“I feel like I should be embarrassed,” the woman finally said, her hands fiddling in front of her. 

“Oh, no, I should be! I just came over here and assumed you were…I don’t know.” 

“No, trust me, it’s me who should be embarrassed,” the girl said, holding her hand up. She was blushing slightly, and when Chloe looked up at her, she saw that the other woman was averting her eyes. “I…uh…I get passionate about the Great British Bake Off….which is so not something I’m proud to admit.” 

Chloe chuckled lightly, her hand falling easily on the doorframe. The other woman watched it cautiously, but Chloe was determined to keep her hand there. If she did, then the girl couldn’t shut the door. And if the girl couldn’t shut the door, then Chloe could stay here. With her. Or whatever. 

And, sure, she had an early appointment tomorrow. But what significance did that have when there was an adorably flustered girl standing in her hallway with sweatpants that were too long for her legs and her favorite baking show on the television behind her. 

“That is a very understandable passion,” Chloe joked, leaning into the doorframe slightly. “Though Chopped is my game.” 

“Oh my god,” the woman groaned, her knees bending slightly in emphasis, “Chopped is  _life_.” 

“Totes,” Chloe laughed, nodding. “Sometimes, when I have to make dinner, I’ll–”

“Give yourself three ingredients?” 

“Yes!” Chloe answered excitedly, and the other woman laughed, nodding. 

“I can’t cook for shit, but I still try that stuff,” she said, taking down her bun and scratching out her hair. 

“I mean, next time I do it I could…” Chloe bit the inside of her cheek, watching the girl stop doing her hair for a moment to catch her eye. “Invite you over or something? Give you real food perhaps?”

“What makes you think I don’t eat real food?” the woman countered, and while Chloe wanted to step back, she instead peeked inside the room, spotting the pizza box on the floor and the ice cream carton next to her laptop. 

“Your menu tonight seems indicative.”

The woman followed her gaze, sighing when she realized the redhead was right. “You try and tell me that Ben and Jerry’s isn’t gourmet.” 

“Oh, I’m not arguing that,” Chloe said quickly. They stood there for a moment or two, nodding, and Chloe watched the way the girl tugged at her newly formed bun, glancing back at the paused television screen once. “I should probably get going…now that I know you’re alive and stuff…”

“Right,” the woman said, pursing her lips for a second before holding the door. “You could…like…it’s late, but if you wanted…we could netflix and chill, or whatever people are saying.” 

Chloe laughed, hands flitting up to her mouth for a second as she watched the girl look at her, confused. “High school teacher,” she explained, pointing to herself. “Netflix and chill doesn’t mean what you think it means.” 

“Goddamnit,” the woman grumbled, and Chloe saw the way a blush was slowly creeping it’s way up her cheeks again. “Okay, well the offer still stands. The original offer. Not the innuendo. Or whatever….I’m not normally this un cool by the way. Just like…you caught me very much not in my prime.” 

Chloe laughed again. She looked down at her phone. 1:37am. Seemed about right. 

“If this isn’t your prime, I don’t think I can handle what you might have in store later,” Chloe said. She sighed, looking into the room one more time. “Okay. What flavor of B and Js?” 

“Literally all of them,” the woman said. She stepped back, letting Chloe into the room. “I keep a pretty full stock.” 

Chloe nodded, holding her hand out the minute she stepped in. “Chloe, by the way. 21B.” 

“Beca,” the woman said, taking the hand and pumping it once. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Chloe said honestly. Beca’s hand slipped from hers, but it wasn’t lost on her that the other girl’s hand lingered for a second. “Neighbor. Oh, and I’m really glad you ended up  _not_ being killed by an axe murderer.”

“Right,” Beca said slowly, stepping into the kitchen to pull out a new carton of ice cream. “Because lonely baking show addict with poor diet is so appealing.” 

“You never know,” Chloe hummed, winking at the other girl. “You  _did_ get me to Netflix and chill.” 

“Gross,” Beca said. She handed Chloe the ice cream carton and sat on her knees, “We’re done with that.”  


	215. The One with the Lost Hamster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My hamster escaped and I think he went under your door au — sent by snowpocalipse

“You lost  _what?!?”_

The woman standing in the doorway lept an impressive height considering her overall stature, her voice raising in decibels with every word. It took everything in Chloe’s power  _not_ to giggle, because it was ridiculous, really. This girl, donning piles and piles of eyeliner and ear spikes that could poke her eye out was almost comedically shaking at the thought of a minute furball. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Chloe said slowly. She fought the urge to reach out and console the other girl - it was clear that she went through a lot of effort to give off general vibes of “Do not touch” - and tried to fold her arms instead. “He’s tame. Obviously. Hamsters tend to be…um…tame.” 

There was something funny in Chloe’s voice, that tiny hint that implied she was seconds away from laughter, and the girl standing in the door narrowed her eyes at it. “There’s a tiny rodent just  _gallivanting_ in my room right now, excuse me if I don’t find it humorous.” 

Chloe actually rolled her eyes at that, allowing the laugh that was bubbling around the edges to permeate through. “He’s hardly  _gallivanting,”_ she said easily. “He’s probably scared. One word from me, and he’ll come scampering out.” 

The woman eyed her suspiciously, and Chloe had enough shame to feel uncomfortable at the glance, trying to stand up straighter. She felt like she was representing the hamster somehow - like she was a mom picking up their kid and if there was one hair out of place it might give _completely_ the wrong idea. Which was silly, really, because, for one, this was a  _hamster_. And for two, she was wearing pajamas with rainbows and clouds all over them, her hair a mess from the Bellas performance she’d had the night before. 

Extra-hold hairspray was not as pretty the morning after. 

And the woman standing in front of her was wearing a blazer - not like a Bella blazer, because it was fitted, curving in around the sides, and because the back was…yep…that back was _entirely_ lace, leaving room for a black tank top to shine through. 

“Oh shoot,” Chloe breathed out, and the woman started, looking at her confusedly. “I mean…you just look like you have somewhere to be? I don’t want to intrude but like I said, just one little search…”

“You have five minutes to get that rat out of my dorm,” the woman sneered, and Chloe almost shivered with the coldness with which it was delivered. She remembered, though, how high the girl had jumped when she first told her. It wasn’t hard to see past whatever exterior this woman was trying to put on. She smiled sweetly, apparently not the normal response that particular tone got considering how surprised the woman was at her face, and stepped into the room. 

“Bella,” Chloe said, her voice holding a singing lilt. She knew the hamster would respond quicker if she let herself sing out in the normal way, but the stare from the other girl - no matter how fake in it’s coldness - was still intimidating. 

“You named your male hamster Bella?” 

The voice came from behind, and Chloe smiled again. It was clear that she didn’t  _want_ to ask the question, but curiosity had gotten the better of her. She turned to face the other girl, grinning proudly. “Well, first off, it’s  _technically_ Sir Bella Soprano. And second, gender is a social construct.” 

The woman snorted. “Glad to see you’re raising your rodent with an open mind.” 

Chloe ignored that, singing out into the room again. There wasn’t a sound, but even at the hint of the wind, Chloe turned. After a few moments of silence, she sighed, turning towards the girl standing in the doorway. “Oh well,” she said. “If you see him could you….I mean…I live down the hall. Chl—”

“Oh FUCK!” 

Chloe spun around to face where the other woman’s eyes had darted worriedly, and sure enough, a tiny ball of golden fur was sitting in the middle of the room as if it had been there the whole time. She could  _hear_ the other girl gasping when she bent down and cooed at the hamster; it nearly encouraged her sounds of affection, because she found she quite liked stirring up discomfort in this woman. 

“You little bugger,” she said, reaching out to the hamster. “Coming into this girl’s room. I mean, I know she’s pretty, but you really didn’t have to sneak in to get a look.” 

Standing up, she faced the other woman again, smiling. The girl looked at Chloe awkwardly, eyes wide and face confused with eyebrows nearly at her hairline. “What did you say?” 

“I called you pretty,” Chloe said slowly, loving how the red was rising up on the other girl’s cheeks. She looked good with a little bit of color, Chloe thought. Then, she looked down at her hamster, “Come on, boy, let’s take you back to the lab. Stacie’s gonna have a fit when she hears that I used you to pick up a chick….”


	216. The One With the Snapbacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was talking with my computer 'shapparone' about snapbacks and how she thinks she doesn't pull one off. Made me think of bechloe having that convo if you're up for it? -hospital anon — sent by anonymous

“It would be  _cute.”_

Beca turned around to face Chloe, who was stationed between her bed and the wall with her legs crossed. She glared at the smile she was receiving, adding an eye roll to cover up the fact that when Chloe threw grins like that her way she couldn’t help but feel this swelling bubbliness in her chest that she generally tried to hide from everyday people. 

Chloe, though, had an uncanny ability to recognize this moment of repressed adorableness, and it was almost her personal mission to capitalize on it. 

“Come  _on_ , Beca, you’re only resisting because you  _know_ you could rock it.” 

“My head is too small,” Beca grumbled, walking out of her closet and back onto the bed, “And _don’t_ make a joke about that.” 

Chloe bit her lip, giggling. She was sticking her chin out, leaning towards Beca, and it was just about enough to make Beca want to hug her - she had that teddy bear quality about her….it was almost sickening in all it’s sweetness. Instead of hugging, though, Beca slapped Chloe’s cheek lightly twice, scooting down the bed to stare at the ceiling. 

Chloe hummed, plucking herself off the bed with little effort and skipping to the other side of the room. Hanging on the bed post of Amy’s bed was a snapback which Chloe spun around on her finger a few times before positioning carefully on her head. She stood in front of Beca, pursing her lips for a few seconds, then closing one eye and sticking her tongue out. 

“You look ridiculous,” Beca mumbled, and Chloe pouted at her. 

“I look adorable,” she answered confidently. She sat on the bed, pushing Beca’s legs up to make room and then rest them on her lap. “You’re just afraid of how much you love it.” 

“That’s me,” Beca said dryly. “Man, you can see right through me.” 

“It’s a super power, really,” Chloe sighed, stretching. Beca pulled herself back to a sitting position, tapping the brim of the snapback once. 

“You know it’s supposed to be worn backwards,” Beca said. 

“That’s not true,” Chloe answered. She reinforced the snapback, looking up at Beca. 

“It totally is.” 

“Well, I don’t believe you,” Chloe said. “You’ll just have to show me what you mean.” 

Beca rolled her eyes, scanning over Chloe for a second. It wasn’t that she  _didn’t_ pull it off…because,  _God_ , she really did. What’s more, she was donning one of her older brother’s football shirts and running shorts, and Beca was tempted to tell Chloe just how illegal the whole ensemble was. 

She bit her lip, considering what to say next, when Chloe jumped up, putting the hat on Beca so quickly that the brunette didn’t really know what happened until Chloe was bouncing on the bed, smiling so widely that there were wrinkles around her eyes. 

“I was  _so_ right,” Chloe said, clapping quietly. She reached around Beca for her phone, pulling it up. Beca held her hand out to the lens, turning. 

“Stop, ugh, no,” Beca grunted, trying to back up from Chloe. The redhead, though, was advancing on her, cornering her until they were both pressed up against the headboard and the snapback was being pushed off by it. “You suck.” 

“You’re rocking a snapback, Beca Mitchell,” Chloe said proudly, wiggling her hips. Beca slapped the brim of the snapback so that it was covering her eyes and preceded to stick her tongue out. Chloe lifted the brim slightly, and Beca realized she was closer to the redhead than she’d originally thought. 

“I am  _so_  not,” she breathed quietly. She didn’t have the brain power to wonder why she felt the need to whisper, except for the knowledge that right in this moment everything felt smaller and bigger at the same time. Inherently private, regardless. Chloe bent down, pecking Beca’s nose with her lips before sitting back on her knees. She snapped a picture quickly, squeaking contentedly. 

“New background? Check yes,” Chloe said, typing a few things into her phone. Beca groaned, turning so that her head was in the pillow and sighing loudly. She felt Chloe’s hand tapping on the space between her shoulder blades. “College is about  _experimenting,_ Beca,” Chloe said wryly, “If there’s any time to try out the snapback look, it’s now.” 

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say,” Beca grumbled into her pillow, “But I feel like there’s a double meaning there that I don’t necessarily approve of.” 

 


	217. The One with the Favorite Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone in this building is listening to my favorite song au — sent by snowpocalipse

It worked like a spell, pulling Beca up and out of her bed before she was really fully awake. Her fingers trailed the edges of the dorm walls, feeling the vibrations somewhere deeper than just surface-level hearing. 

After the fifth step through the hallway, she became aware of the fact that she was only wearing an oversized t-shirt. On the sixth step, she realized that she was wandering a building looking for the player of her favorite song, and on the seventh step she realized that she had _zero_ idea about what she was going to do when she found this person. 

On the eighth step, the song hit it’s bridge, and she didn’t much care about the earlier steps. 

That’s how music was, mostly. A spell, like a hazy cloud, that did enough to quell the seemingly never-ending track of running thoughts and questions and worries Beca was used to being steeped in. So when she held her knuckles up to room 428 - one floor above where her room was - it wasn’t really hesitation that kept her from knocking. It wasn’t reluctance, or a moment of reconsideration. It was mostly just not wanting to break up the smooth transition of melodies pouring from this person’s speakers. 

She wasn’t really expecting it when the door opened without her knocking, and though the music kept playing - louder now without the barrier - she felt like it had completely been drowned out by the stammering of her heart. 

She was standing in front of a door. Doors open. It’s what they  _do_. So the shock that stopped her heart entirely wasn’t really warranted. Yet, it still came as a surprise, somehow, which meant that Beca was now standing with her knuckles still extended in the air in front of a woman clad in nothing but a towel who was looking at her with less shock and more….glee? Mischief? 

Beca wasn’t exactly in the mind to analyze it right now. 

“Can I help you?” the woman said, her lips pursed in amusement. Beca blinked owlishly a few times, opening and closing her mouth before clearing her throat. The woman straightened her shoulders, folding her arms. 

“Right. I…uh….you were….” Beca coughed again, averting her eyes. If the shock weren’t enough, Beca had just been pulled out of the trance that the song had put her in. What’s more, she’d been pulled out by a woman who’s eyes were  _really_ ungodly blue. The redhead raised her eyebrow, and Beca tried again. “That was….uh….the song. It’s…my favorite.” 

The woman nodded slowly, suddenly looking at Beca like she was a threat, or a risk, or something to approach with general caution. “Are you high?” 

“What?!” Beca backed up slightly, shaking her head. “Oh, no. No. No, like, I…Here I am, totally sober. Promise.” 

“Okay,” the woman said slowly. “Okay, well then, if that’s all…I have to go shower.” 

“Sure, yeah,” Beca said, keeping her head down. The girl’s room smelled like lavender, and it was adorned in purple string lights that tinted her skin color slightly. Realizing she should’ve moved, she stuttered out a quick apology when the woman tried to squeeze between her and the wall, appreciating the polite chuckle that the woman let out at the incident. She watched the redheaded bun bounce as the girl scurried down the hall, and decided that the music was enough. 

It was well worth looking like an idiot. Maybe. 

“You’re got good taste!” Beca shouted, and the girl stopped, turning slowly back towards her. “Like, for the record.” 

“Thank you,” the woman said. Her voice was still slow, hesitant, but Beca could hear it warming up around the edges. “Not too mainstream for you?” 

“What?” 

The woman pointed at Beca’s t-shirt, one that she bought on a whim at the concert for a local band, held in someone’s basement. She shrugged off the point awkwardly, shifting her weight onto her other leg. 

“This is just….I’m not….” Beca stammered, taking a deep breath. “I’m not snooty. Not really. Like, I’ll act like I am. If anyone asks.” 

The woman smiled widely, and Beca discovered that when this stranger laughed, she felt inclined to too. “You’re one of  _those_ girls,” she said, to which Beca bawked. 

“I am  _not!”_

“Whatever you say,” the woman held her hands up feigning innocence and backing away, and though Beca didn’t know why, she didn’t really want the girl to leave yet, so she relented. Much more quickly that she was used to, for the record. 

“Fine,” she huffed, “I’m kind of that girl.” 

“I knew it,” the woman said. Her eyes were shining. Beca liked the feeling of thinking she might’ve made them do that. “It’s fine, though. That means you know some bands I don’t. And it means you  _might_ have a soft-spot for some Dixie Chicks.” 

“Dixie Chicks?! No no no, not a ch–”

“Well, because I was thinking,” the woman interrupted, promptly ending Beca’s thought. “You might want to have a little exchange. CD from me for a CD from you?” 

“Yes,” Beca said quickly. The woman raised her eyebrow, and Beca backed up, embarrassed. “I mean, yeah. That sounds….nice.” 

“Great,” the woman grinned. She adjusted her towel slightly, standing there smiling at Beca for a time that many would consider to be  _just_ too long, but Beca didn’t much care. When she cleared her throat, though, the woman blinked and regained composure. “I guess you already know where I live,” she said, laughing lightly. Beca joined in, but slightly more uneasy. 

“Sorry about that,” Beca finally said. She scratched the back of her neck as the other woman (thankfully) waved off the apology. 

“Now you should probably know my name,” the woman said. She held one hand to the towel, keeping it up, and reached the other one out. “Chloe.”

“Beca. I’m not normally this creepy.” 

“Sure,” Chloe said. “That’s probably a damned shame. I was beginning to think that our combined forwardness would take us places.” 

“I mean,” Beca said quickly, and Chloe smiled wider. The brunette shook her head. “You’re trying to get me to say something stupid,” Beca accused, and Chloe laughed, then. “I’m just going to leave before that happens.” 

“Good thinking,” Chloe said with a wink.


	218. The One With "Fuck You"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella house party. A lot of commentary from the bellas about drunk chloe and beca being all relationshippy (but aren't together.. Yet). Beca/chloe says fuck you (all in good fun) and chloe/beca just says yeah, if you want to. And then, yeah.. (So basically shane/carmen from the l word just bechloe). — sent by anonymous

“I still don’t fully believe that you two  _haven’t_ sealed the deal,” Stacie said behind her red solo cup, eying Beca and Chloe from across the room. The house had gotten significantly louder as the night wore on, but the words were still capable of being heard, at least, the blush rising on Beca’s cheeks indicated as much. 

“You  _do_ know that Legacy thought you two were practically married until last week when you came home crying about the break-up,” CR commented. 

“That’s  _crazy_ ,” Beca said. She was leaning on Chloe for balance, and when she started to talk, she started barrelling forward so that she had the appearance of being top-heavy. And from the hazy, drunken mind of Chloe, the word “top-heavy” wasn’t seeming too accurate. So, she tried to help Beca keep her balance by accidentally cupping her chest. So, what? She didn’t have the best depth-perception as of her last cup of Amy’s “new and improved” jiggle juice. “We aren’t…I wouldn’t do that.” 

“Excuse you,” Chloe said. Despite her giggling, she let out a scandalized gasp. “It’s not  _that_ crazy. Me and you.” 

Beca barked out a laugh - the kind of spit-take laughter that only came out when she had had enough to drink - and the two other Bellas in the room watched her with disinterest. She’d broken up with Jesse a week ago, but they’d been in trouble long before that, which meant that drunken Beca was  _kind of_ a character they had gotten used to. The amount fact that almost every inch of her available skin was resting on Chloe wasn’t particularly surprising either. 

If they had been inseparable  _pre-_ breakup, they were a permanent package-deal now. 

“You and me,” Beca said, biting her tongue. “Me and you. Beca and Chloe. Chloe and Beca.” 

“Bloe!” Amy sang as she walked into the room, putting her arms around the redhead and brunette respectively and placing a wet kiss on each of their foreheads. “My favorite platonic lesbi-friends.” 

“That’s not a thing,” Beca said indignantly. Her cheeks were red from the alcohol, but they took a particularly pink tone when she was embarrassed, and the look the rest of the Bellas were giving her was enough to bring that flush to the surface. “Bloe.” 

“Stop pretending it isn’t a thing, Beca.” 

The words could’ve come from anyone in the room - they all believed them to be true enough - but it was the fact that Chloe said it that pulled a silent gasp from the crowd. It wasn’t said with any malice, really, just more disbelief, and Beca reeled at her in response. 

“What?”

“We  _love_ each other,” Chloe sang, latching onto Beca’s waist. At that, Stacie rolled her eyes, turning towards the vodka and pouring another shot in her mixed drink to the sound of CR’s unbelieving snort. Beca was trying to push Chloe off of her, but her hands were like noodles. Which was wildly ineffective. 

“Fuck  _you,”_ she drawled, pulling a face. Chloe giggled, nuzzling further into Beca’s chest. 

“MMmmmm, okay,” Chloe hummed. Emily, who was standing over the sink, accidentally dropped her solo cup into it, and the sound was enough to make Chloe open her eyes. She gaped at Beca, detaching herself and sobering up immediately, but Beca just stared back at her, smiling. The apology was almost  _visible_ on Chloe’s lips, and if Beca hadn’t spoken up in that second, she would’ve stepped forward to erase the words she’d said. 

“What?” Beca asked, still smiling. Chloe started to shake her head, but Beca continued. “You serious?” 

“N…I…um…n–”

“Because, yes,” Beca said quickly, cutting Chloe off. She had a gleam in her that was decidedly sober - a kind of mischievous excitement that made her giggle despite the situation. Stacie and CR exchanged glances, and Emily squeaked, but it seemed like the couple in question hadn’t noticed. With her arms still wrapped around Beca, Chloe straightened. 

“For real?” 

Beca nodded, her smile turning into an all out goofy face. “If you wanna.” 

“If I wanna?” 

“Oh, for Christsakes, will you two just fuck,  _please_ ,” Stacie groaned, garnering the attention of the entire room. CR glared at her, and Emily looked genuinely afraid, but Chloe used the moment to glance at Beca, her smile growing when she noticed the fact that Beca’s wasn’t diminishing slightly. 

“My room is being used as a coatroom,” Chloe said under her breath. 

“Amy’s staying with Bumper tonight,” Beca said in response. 

And it was enough. At least, judging by the absence of the couple throughout the rest of the party, and the scent of pancakes and giggles that enveloped a very hungover house the next morning. 

 

\--

 

After a Bella party, the house normally woke up around or after 1 pm. Actually, 1 pm was  _quite_ early for a post-Bella-party wake-up call, though you wouldn’t be able to tell that based on this particular morning, because nearly all the in-house Bellas  _and_ Emily were stationed at the foot of the stairs from ten in the morning to noon, when the first sign of life was heard coming from the creak of the top floor. 

“They’re coming,” Jessica whispered to Ashley, who squeaked loud enough for Emily to catch the bug. Stacie glared at the youngest Bella, putting a finger to her lips to tell her to be quiet. 

“We don’t want to miss the lovers’ discourse, girls,” she said, watching as the other girls quickly nodded their agreement and refocused their attention on whatever was occurring upstairs. 

“I’m not showing my face until you nerds scatter.” Beca was positioned  _just_ out of sight of the staircase, her toes peeking out over the edge, and most of the Bellas groaned in harmony - one of Beca’s biggest pet peeves. 

“We all know you did the do,” Amy said from the floor, “You might as well just fess up.” 

“There’s no shame in sexual expression,” Emily shouted, and Beca’s whine brought up a snicker that was distinctly Chloe’s. 

“Bec, just go down the stairs.” 

“Not a chance,” Beca whispered, though her voice was still audible at the foot of the stairs. “These freaks need to know when to mind their own business.” 

“And you protesting me making banana pancakes is going to help them learn that lesson how?” 

“Oh shit,” Cynthia-Rose whistled, clapping. “You know what banana pancakes mean.” 

“What do banana pancakes mean?” Emily asked. Stacie was just about to tell them to be quiet again, but Chloe had chosen that exact moment to step out onto the landing. 

“They mean I got laid last night,” she said, giggling when she heard Beca. 

“Seriously, Chlo? What happened to ‘playing it cool’?” 

“It’s not like they  _don’t_ know, Beca,” Chloe said towards the figure waiting in the shadow of the steps. “Besides, the quicker we get this interrogation over with, the quicker we get breakfast. And the quicker  _you_ get some coffee in you.” 

At that, Beca grunted, and the Bellas hugged either side of the staircase as Chloe skipped down the steps, followed by a very grumpy Beca who, despite herself, still couldn’t hide the grin that was creeping up over her face. 

“We want details,” Stacie said, standing up without hesitation and quickly following Chloe into the question. 

“Yes, corrupt us with the tales of your lesbian adventures,” Amy added, “Not that they can beat me and Bumper’s. But, uh,” she shined her knuckles on her shoulder for emphasis, “You can try.” 

“What do you want to know?” Chloe asked, her head peeking out from the refrigerator door. She was smiling wide despite what should’ve been a horrendous hangover, and Stacie leaned in to inspect the blush on her cheeks. 

“Holy shit,” she said, stepping back. “CR, check it out.” 

Cynthia-Rose turned, examining Chloe in the same manner as Stacie. She was wearing her flannel button pajamas, only really donning the top and forgoing the long bottoms for boxer shorts. 

The buttons, though, were askew. 

“Aw, no,” CR said, stepping back. Her hands were up, and she was shaking her head. “I know you’re not going to make us breakfast without washing your hands.” 

“What?” Emily asked from behind the crowd that had formed in the kitchen. “Why does she…?”

“Because B _echloe_ ,” Stacie said the couple’s nickname with a pointed look at Amy, who flinched, wounded, “Engaged in morning sex, judging by this woman’s appearance.” 

“How do you…” Emily started, but Stacie held a finger up, shushing the girl. 

“Because, if you look over at Beca,” she said, shifting that finger to point to the girl sitting on the counter in the corner of the kitchen. She was donning Chloe’s shirt from cheer camp - it was a few sizes too big even for Chloe, so Beca tended to use it as a night-shirt that doubled as a dress - and a nest of hair that was truly horrendous. But, most importantly, she was wearing a smile regardless of the annoyance that was painting over the rest of her features. “Miss Do Not Bother Me Until I Have My Seventh Cup of Coffee over here is wearing a shit-eating grin that, if you ask me, speaks for itself.” 

“Okay, guys, is this really necessary,” Beca shot out, earning a smirk and a wink from Chloe, who was already pouring the ingredients to the pancakes into a bowl. “You’re getting free Beale pancakes. Isn’t that enough?” 

“I’m not eating your sex pancakes,” CR commented, earning a nod from Jessica and Ashley behind her. “No matter how good they are.” 

“Then why the  _fuck_ do you care?” Beca asked. She reached into the bowl to swipe some batter, earning a slap from Chloe and then a small giggle. Beca returned the giggle, though, and while the act wasn’t completely uncharacteristic - Beca  _did_ melt whenever Chloe did _anything_ even before they got together - it only spurred the Bellas curiosity more. 

“Because we’re invested, Beca,” Stacie said as if the answer was obvious. “And because we placed bets  _freshman year_ as to which one of you was the top and which one was the bottom.” 

“Oh my  _god_ ,” Beca shouted, hitting her palms to the counter. She hopped off her seat, storming out of the room with her hands on her ears to shield from any extra commentary from the other girls, missing what was a nice round of snickers all over. 

“ _Exactly_ ,” Chloe answered with a grin and a wink towards the audience of Bellas watching, effectively stopping the line of questioning. Her face, it seemed, said it all. 

\--

“So, was it good?” Amy was in the doorway to the room backstage, hand on the doorknob, and when Beca looked up she rolled her eyes. She was just about to change into their set outfits, but she shared a room with Amy. A bra and spandex wasn’t exactly _new_ news. 

It was a small performance and a set they’d done a thousand times, and while twenty four hours locked in her room recovering from their interrogation _should’ve_ signalled an end to this terrible conversation, it seemed the Bellas hadn’t quit. 

Which meant that Chloe hadn’t budged either, which was more than a little worrying for Beca, who thought she’d done a job worth at least _commenting positively_ on, but whatever. Not the point.

“I’m not talking about this,” she said, and Amy walked fully into the room, followed by a small troupe of Bellas. 

“We’re invested,” Emily tried, taking a step back when she saw Beca’s glare. “Sorry if that’s weird or whatever. It’s just, like…you two are like my moms and I….that makes it weirder, doesn’t it? I’m just sa–”

“What legacy is saying is that this is our house too,” Stacie said from behind her, “And we deserve a right to know if we’re going to need ear plugs from now on.” 

“Gross,” Beca said. She bent down, reaching to pick up her shirt from the ground and stepping into the toned down light of the backstage room as a result. Stacie was the first person to notice, squealing. 

“Holy _shit_ ,” she squeaked, racing to Beca to get a better look. The girl shrugged off Stacie’s attention, but soon all the girls were in a circle around her, eyes trained on her neck. 

“What’s the—” Chloe stopped in the doorway, seeing only an army of backs all focused on whatever was happening near the mirror. “Everything alright up here?”

“Sure, but these bruises don’t really agree,” CR said mindlessly, reaching out to touch Beca’s neck and getting slapped by the brunette. 

“Will you get off,” Beca grunted, hands flying to her neck. It was burning red as she spoke, and her hands didn’t really help the flush she was feeling, but she needed to get the attention off of whatever was happening on her neck. And her chest. And the parts of her hips that peeked out over the spandex. Jesus Christ. Peeking out over the crowd of Bellas, she made eye contact with Chloe. “Hickeys, Chlo, really?”

The redhead grinned, shrugging, “I thought they would speak for themselves and the girls would get enough of the message without having to ask questions.” 

“Oh we got the message alright,” Stacie tutted, stepping back. “That message is that you a lady in the streets and a freak in the sheets.” 

CR whistled her agreement, and the other Bellas just nodded, seemingly hypnotized by the bruises adorning Beca’s form. Chloe rolled her eyes, stepping forward to break up the line of girls. “Like you’ve never seen hickeys before,” she said, and Amy raised her hand. 

“Not _that_ many, miss,” she said, and Beca coughed, covering herself much in the same way that she tried to when Chloe first found her in the shower. It was cute, really, if her own technique wasn’t being put under scrutiny. 

“It’s not like they were reciprocated,” Chloe argued, and Beca choked on her words.

 “Seriously, Chlo? You are _so_ not helping,” she whispered, and Emily, who was the only one close enough to them to hear, snickered. 

“Either you put your clothes on,” Chloe whispered in response before turning to the Bellas and crossing her arms, “Or all of you need to vacate the premises in about twenty seconds.” 

“Why would we–” Emily started, but Stacie grabbed her arm, raising her eyebrows towards the door. “Oh! Oh. Oh my. Okay….” 

Amy turned around while the other Bellas tried to scurry out of the room, fighting the stampede bravely. “Aca-captains, I feel the need to point out that the bet hasn’t been settled….” she said, and the other Bellas stopped suddenly, despite Chloe’s threat. Beca took the opportunity to grab her costume, hastily covering herself with what fabric she could. All eyes were intently focused on them, and Chloe was pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. 

“Everyone gets their money back,” she said, waving her arm around. “The results were 50/50.” 

CR let out a whistle while Jessica and Ashley hollered, and Beca slapped Chloe harshly in the stomach. “ _Dude_ ….”

“What,” Chloe turned to her, glaring, “You gonna say, ‘Fuck you’ again? Because that insult doesn’t really work anymore.”

Beca sighed, looking over at the Bellas self-consciously before turned her back towards them and facing Chloe head on.

“Actually,” CR said from behind her, “It looks like it worked pretty well.” The other Bellas nodded in agreement, and Beca groaned, annoyed. 

“Can I please change now?” she asked, turning towards them, “In peace?”


	219. The One With the Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are loads of empty seats on this train but you chose to sit next to me au — sent by snowpocalipse

Beca wasn’t the world’s biggest fan of public transportation, or anything, really, that involved too many people breathing her very personal air. The only saving grace of it all was the anonymity. With the right kind of scowl and the proper air of hatred for the world, she managed to get seats alone 98% of the time - barring overly friendly redheads who seemed to make it a  _point_ to break her streak of solitude on the train ride into the city. 

She had better people to be sitting next to, really, and if Beca had any of the guts that her ensemble was suggesting she had, she would be brave enough to say as much. The stranger was pretty - gorgeous, really, if Beca was being honest - and had a smile that said, “Come one and come all, I will talk your ear off about Real Housewives if you’re so inclined”. She looked like she had a habit of making Cake Pops and knew every word (unironically) to every Christina Aguilera song in existence. 

In short, she seemed like she was the type of girl to talk to strangers on long train rides. And no matter how much Beca tried to give off the appearance of very obviously  _not_ wanting to talk, it seemed as though this woman decided to make her the victim of today’s trip. 

A real shame, because Beca was hoping to get some mixing done before going into the studio. 

“What’re you working on?” 

The woman broke her endless stream of minutes spent staring at Beca’s computer - which, Beca thought, was pretty rude and a clear invasion of her privacy - with that question, her words sharp and stark in the quiet space behind Beca’s headphones. She looked up at the roof of the train, sighing to herself before throwing on a sickly sweet smile. 

“None of your business.” 

“Oh, come on,” the woman tutted, taking the wire of Beca’s headphones and twirling it around her finger. “Don’t be a spoilsport.” 

“I’m not,” Beca answered, “I’m being a normal human who doesn’t particularly feel like making small talk, yeah?” 

The woman sat back in her seat with her hands up feigning innocence as she exhaled. “Alright then.” 

Really, that should’ve been enough of a message. Beca was clear and concise - she’d expressed that she didn’t want to talk, and she thought that when it came to strangers that should really be enough. But this woman was relentless, and kept with her staring, which was almost worse than the conversation Beca was beginning to feel was inevitable. 

“Can I help you?” she finally said, glaring at the woman. 

“Sorry,” the woman answered sheepishly. Good, Beca thought, so she  _does_ feel shame. “I just….it looks cool. And I love that song. It’s my jam. My  _lady_ jam.” 

Scratch that bit about shame. It was now suddenly extremely apparent that that was something this woman did not contain. 

Beca gaped at her, cheeks quickly blushing without an ounce of her permission. Assuming that this woman, whom she first thought to be some innocent vapid but beautiful creature, was verifiably insane, she turned her computer closer towards herself and leaned away. 

“Cool,” she said under her breath, hoping that it contained the kind of caustic attitude that she wanted to convey. The other girl just nodded excitedly, turning the screen towards her again. 

“Totes,” she said, “Can I hear it?” 

“Dude, no!” Beca was now clutching the laptop from the other girl’s grasp, and the redhead just grinned at her in a way that in any other situation would’ve been…well…frankly…hot. 

“Not for  _that_ reason,” the woman clarified. “I’m a music teacher.” 

“Why do I feel like I should report you to the school board?” 

“Oh hush,” the woman said quickly. “I just mean that I could give it a listen. Maybe offer up a few pointers.” 

“I’m really fine,” Beca said quickly. The tips of her ears were flaming hot, and her mouth was dry. It was for  _this exact reason_ that she avoided people on trains. The girl was smiling blindly at her. 

“I’m not going to leave you alone until I hear it.” 

“You’re persistent,” Beca commented, and the redhead only straightened her shoulders proudly. 

“No, I’m Chloe,” she said, biting her lip to hide the giggle that was busting up. Beca, despite herself, found that she had to push down her smile too, but Chloe recognized it immediately, gasping and pointing to Beca. “That was a smile. Don’t lie to me.” 

“I do  _not_ know what you’re talking about,” Beca said, but her smile was growing wider by the second, and she tried to hide behind her hair to cover it, but this very overt reaction from the stranger sitting next to her on the train was enough to make her feel almost….giggly. “Shut up.” 

“Well, so now I know you have great taste in music  _and_ great humor,” Chloe hummed to herself, sitting forward in her chair. “It’s good to know I made the right seat choice.” 

“You had literally dozens of other empty seats to choose from,” Beca pointed out, silently wondering why the hell she was encouraging this conversation in the first place. The redhead shrugged noncommittally. 

“None of them had a pretty girl next to them,” Chloe answered, and her tone was so casual that Beca almost asked her to repeat it. After the whole lady jam incident, though, she wasn’t entirely sure that it was safe to ask her to repeat a possible compliment. Or a possible pickup line. 

Beca was notoriously terrible at recognizing both things. And even worse at responding to them. Which was why she just stared at Chloe confusedly as the other girl laughed. 

“You look like you’ve never been told you’re pretty.” 

“Well, like, not by a random woman on a train,” Beca commented, and Chloe chuckled. 

“I’m not a random woman, I’m Chloe,” she said, “As I’ve already said - and might I point out that it’s kind of rude for you to  _not_ introduce yourself to the woman who’s been trying tirelessly to hit on you…I mean, you don’t  _have_ to, but think of all the good times we’ve had so far. You _smiled_ at me. So, obviously, this thing we have going -” she waved her finger back and forth between the two of them “Is pretty magical and deserving of name exchanges.” 

Beca shook her head, hating that the smile was making it’s way back up to the surface. Taking a deep breath, she grinned openly. “Beca,” she said, clearing her throat. “I’m Beca.” 

“Well, hello Beca,” Chloe said. She held her hand out for Beca to shake, staring pointedly at the hand that was twisting in Beca’s hair. The other girl jumped slightly, putting her hand promptly in Chloe’s. 

“Hello Chloe.” 

“Now, tell me, Beca, now that I know your name, can you share with me your wondrous art, or do I have to keep flirting to get that from you?” 

Beca looked at Chloe questioningly, slightly concerned, until the redhead smirked and pointed to Beca’s half-closed laptop. She bit her lip, considering it, until she finally sighed and pushed it over to the other girl. “Listen away,” Beca answered, “But take it easy on me.” 

“Oh, I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Chloe said easily. “You’re good. I can tell.” 

 


	220. The One With the Braids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I've been really depressed lately, and whenever I feel this way, I always read your fics because they never fail to make me smile. If it's not too much to ask, could I get a little fluff? Just something to make me smile. — sent by anonymous

Chloe stood in the entryway of Beca’s room, eyes watery with her hands stuck in her hair - which, in the moment, could’ve doubled for a bird’s nest, or something of equivalent chaos. 

“What’s your deal?” 

It was her way of welcoming the other girl into the room - a sort of opening of the invisible gate so that Chloe chuckled dryly to herself and slipped past the boundary into Beca’s space. Not once did she remove her hands from her hair, and it was then that Beca realized it was because she  _couldn’t._ They were stuck. 

“That’s quite the hairdo, you know,” Beca joked, biting lightly on the wire of her headphones, “I’m going to start calling you Marie Antoinette.” 

“Shut up,” Chloe grumbled. She slumped onto Beca’s bed, pouting. 

“You going to tell me why you’re rockin’ the whole redheaded woodpecker look, or am I going to have to guess?” 

Chloe looked up at the ceiling, the tell-tale sign that she was about to break into tears and needed a moment to collect herself. Carefully, Beca stashed her laptop away, leaning forward to place a hesitant hand on Chloe’s knee. Contact wasn’t a thing she really knew how to do by way of offering comfort, but it had become the Bellas sole mission to remedy that issue, so she was trying, despite how uncomfortable it felt. Chloe’s eyes followed Beca’s hand, grinning at the obvious attempt. It wasn’t natural, but she wasn’t going to push it away either. 

“I tried to do my hair,” Chloe explained, her voice cracking. “Like all the braids and stuff you do…but then it all got stuck, and there’s a rubberband somewhere in there, but I can’t find it and my arms really really hurt and–”

“Okay, okay,” Beca said quickly. She was already on her knees, pushing Chloe forward so there was enough room between the wall and Chloe’s back for her to position herself. “Let the master do her magic, yeah?” 

Chloe nodded quietly, letting out just a small squeak in response. It was so soft, fragile, even, that Beca had to smile. She put a hand on Chloe’s shoulder, leaning down enough to be near her ear. “You should be bad at things more often,” she said, her voice a fake whisper, “It makes all of us normal people feel special.” 

“You’re the worst,” Chloe mumbled, and Beca laughed. She began the process of removing Chloe’s hands from her hair, starting with the knotted strands that were acting as ties and tugging them carefully. 

“No,” Beca bit back her laughter, “You kinda are. At this at least.” With that, she successfully removed one hand, which promptly reached back to slap her lightly on the shoulder. She worked quietly after that, humming the mix she was working on while tugging at whatever hair gave away easily. She managed to pull out five bobby pins and one rubber band, placing them gingerly on her bedspread and continuing the work until the red hair sat slightly above Chloe’s shoulders, shortened because of the frizz and the volume that the mess had given it. 

She switched her tune, aiming for something more familiar, and as she felt Chloe’s eyes close, she could hear the harmony beating back against her melody, so that as she brushed her fingers through the knotted hair, they managed to make it through the entirety of that song and another. 

She thought, briefly, that this was what it was always like with them - the natural harmony to the melody, their skills and weaknesses fitting together like pieces to a puzzle so that, occasionally, they could work as one well-oiled machine, hands weaving through hair or notes weaving through time signatures or words weaving through dance moves. They were a good team, Beca thought, and as much as she felt inferior to Chloe’s permanent superiority, there were still moments like this when the redhead was something less than perfect - something in _need_ of someone else - which bumped Beca up just enough for her to be able to feel like she was enough for all that was Chloe Beale. 

Chloe’s head was moving softly to the rhythm of Beca’s fingers and the tune of the song, but the movement wasn’t enough to ruin the ropes Beca was sewing with her hands, and after an undisclosed amount of time, she slapped her thighs, sitting up again as Chloe reached back to touch the finished product. 

There was a dent left in Beca’s bed when Chloe got up to look in the mirror, and Beca would’ve smoothed it out if she weren’t so preoccupied with the look of awe painted across Chloe’s face. If Beca didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought that she’d solved world hunger for all that Chloe was praising her with eyes that watered with something different than when she’d first seen them earlier that night. “It’s  _amazing_ ,” Chloe breathed excitedly. She kept glancing from the mirror to Beca and back again, squealing all the while. Letting out a little hip shimmy, she scurried to Beca, who sat on the bed feeling like she was going to burst with her own unique kind of pride or self-satisfaction. Then, without prelude, she kissed Beca lightly on the forehead, finishing it off with an easy “mwah!” before nuzzling into the other girl’s shoulder and knocking her off balance. Beca tumbled so that her back curved against the wall and Chloe was over her, grinning wildly. 

“You are a  _genius_ ,” she said, and Beca chuckled. 

“You know, you’ve already got me under you in bed, flattery isn’t really going to help you much more. But you can keep trying if you want.” 

Chloe rolled her eyes, backing away from Beca with a hum. “You’re my hero, and I shall live every day of my life in debt to you, your Highness. How’s that?”

“Good,” Beca said simply. “You could use more practice though.”

“Oh please, I can  _see_ your head growing,” Chloe said. “No more compliments tonight, my sweet. Just a final thank you, and I’ll be outta here.” 

“I get it. Use me for my magic hands and just leave,” Beca said with another grin, pulling a thoughtful smirk from Chloe’s lips. 

“You’re getting too good at innuendos, Mitchell,” she said, moving towards the entryway again. “Whoever taught you to be shameless should really be put in their place.” 

“I believe that was a redhead who barged in on me nude once upon a time,” Beca shouted as Chloe started to leave the room. The redhead turned from the top of the steps, throwing a wink at Beca. 

“What, you’re gonna punish me?” she said, her voice light and airy in a way Beca knew to be perfectly concocted. Despite the blush in her cheeks, she pushed down her instinctive response and just shook her head. 

“Leave me, Beale,” she said, pulling her computer back up. Chloe continued walking down that steps at that, at the bottom meeting up with Amy who was headed up. Beca could hear their conversation clear as day. 

“Rockin’ hair, Red.”

“Thanks,” Chloe chirped. Her face wasn’t visible from where Beca was in bed, but she could almost see her grin in her tone of voice. “A little nest of bluebirds and butterflies did it.” 

“Fuck you, Chlo,” Beca shouted from her bed, and the sound of Chloe’s laughter reverberated from through the house. Beca couldn’t help but feel special for being the one to cause it. 


	221. The Tour Guide AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m the tour guide on your fancy package holiday au — sent by snowpocalipse

Beca readjusted her nametag one more time, looking over to the bus driver in the front mirror. 

“Ready for this one, Ames?” 

“About as ready as a pregnant seahorse, cap’n,” the other woman responded, tipping her hat. Beca shook her head, waving away Amy’s comment, before descending the steps and making her way outside to the small crowd of people who had gathered outside the bus. 

She liked to scan the group she would be traveling with over the course of the week - while her mother told her to never judge a book by it’s cover, she would argue that you don’t really traverse the country living and breathing with a book, so it seemed necessary in these moments to just see what she would be dealing with. 

Overall, it was the usual fare. Two women standing in the far back, donning airport gear and fanny packs. Beca didn’t have to look to know that their pigtails would aesthetically match the white socks they’d rolled all the way from their tennis shoes. To their right was a woman with harsh bangs that were currently being brushed feverishly - she looked like she was whispering something, but Beca couldn’t hear much over the cars that were passing them in the terminal. A man and a woman, who both looked  _way_ too young to want to be on this trip, were standing near enough to each other to indicate they were together, but not nearly close enough to be in a place where they could travel in a foreign country together…which would be interesting. Next to them were another couple, a blonde with a khaki skirt and “sensible walking shoes” (Beca groaned internally), already reading her map to the man next to her, who was just staring at his surroundings with a far-out look on his face. Then there was the buxom brunette, who was resting her arm on a shorter black woman, a woman who, in the moment, looked not only displeased but downright bothered by the amount of sun that was shining on them, judging by the grimace on her face. 

Standing in the middle, a few steps in front of them all, was a redheaded woman who was fumbling with her suitcase. The zipper wouldn’t move, and she was balancing trying to handle that with the giant stuffed animal she was trying to force inside. 

“Need help?” Beca asked, reaching out to the woman. Surprised, the woman looked to either side of her before meeting Beca’s eyes, blushing slightly. 

“I just…” she fumbled with the zipper one more time, “It’s stuck.” 

“Right,” Beca said slowly. She was surprised to find herself smiling. Actually, genuinely smiling. First days were spent with fake laughs and corny jokes, and so much textbook information that Beca could suffocate someone with population sizes and hotel descriptions. They were not spent with genuine smiles - at least, not until she was off the clock and Amy and her went to their favorite pub for one or two (or three or four) drinks. And they certainly were not  _started_ with them. “Let me at it.” 

The woman backed up quickly, jumping forward again when Beca jerked the zipper harshly forward. She stopped herself, though, when she saw that the trick worked, and the zipper covered up the final green ear of the stuffed animal without effort. “Thanks,” the woman breathed, “No one ever said security blankets were hard to pack away.” 

“Mmm, tip number one of traveling,” Beca joked, standing up straight. She held out her hand. “Beca, tour guide.” 

“Oh! Oh…um…” the woman smiled politely, biting her lip and looking around again. It was a behavior that accompanied being embarrassed, Beca realized, and she found that she was smiling even wider. “Yeah. Chloe Beale. Tour…ist?” 

“That’ll do,” Beca said, looking pointedly at her hand and waiting for Chloe to shake it. When she did, Beca used the opportunity to pull Chloe in closer, just enough to whisper conspiratorially. “I’m about to go into my tour guide persona, don’t be put off.”

Chloe giggled, and Beca found that the sound - just the sound - was enough to make her blush. 

She hadn’t had very many crushes growing up. The boys, after all, tended to wear basketball shorts that went down to their ankles and the girls, well, they weren’t very forthcoming with actual feelings beyond those geared towards said basketball-shot-wearing boys. When she decided to skip school, getting paid to travel seemed like a nice enough gig, and aside from her mother’s lamentations that she’ll “never find someone on the road”, she really wasn’t too bothered by the lack of…err…activity. 

So the feeling of this giddiness, this undeniable crush - with a “customer” no less - felt off-putting if not a little embarrassing. Did people her age even get crushes anymore? 

With that, Beca took a deep breath, taking one last glance at the woman smiling at her - she had freckles on her nose, and Beca wasn’t sure why she noticed that, just that she  _did_ \- before stepping back and clapping her hands. “All right, all right,” she directed her voice up and out, towards the rest of the crowd. “I’m Beca, your tour guide. We’ll do the rest of the introductions on the bus, yeah? You’re paying me for my time, so let’s try not to waste it.” 

The blonde and her boyfriend (fiance? husband?) were the first on the bus, her tennis shoes making determined strides that practically fought off anyone that got in her way. Nervously, the younger girl and her boyfriend followed, and then the giggling women with the pigtails. Beca eyed Chloe, waiting for her to move. 

“I, uh,” Chloe paused, putting a piece of hair behind her ear, “Kinda don’t have anyone to sit next to so. I thought I’d let them, like…file in first, or whatever.” 

Beca nodded quickly, realizing that the shake of her head was probably too enthusiastic and toning it down before deciding that, yeah, that was definitely a few too many agreeing head motions. She coughed. “Totally, yeah,” she said, “There’s always a space by me.” 

Chloe’s eyes lit up at that, just as the tall brunette and her friend entered the bus. “Really?” 

“Not many people want to sit next to the guide,” Beca said, shrugging. She gestured to the bus, where Amy was wagging her eyebrows behind Chloe’s back. 

“That’s….dumb of them,” Chloe said shortly, one foot on the step and the other on the ground so that she had enough height to look down at Beca. “I would’ve thought they’d be fighting over a place near you.” 

Beca nearly choked on the comment, particularly when Amy - who must’ve overhead - let out a low “oooooh” that Beca had to visibly cut off. Chloe was smiling with a confidence she hadn’t had moments ago, clearly gaining power from the way Beca was stuttering. 

“Yeah, yeah, no, actually,” she said, trying to quell the burning in her cheeks. “You’d be surprised.” 

“Would I?” Chloe asked. She was speaking out of the side of her shoulder, head turned, already sitting down. Beca breathed out a laugh, nodding uncomfortably. “Well, then, you’ll just have to show me why.” 

 

\--

 

“Okay, so….” Beca clapped to get the attention of everyone on the bus, all of whom were getting more than a little antsy to actually get out and see the things they were watching from the bus. “Lunch time is free reign. You have an hour, and I’ll meet you back here, yeah?” 

From behind where Beca was standing, Amy “whoop” in fake enthusiasm, which in turn made Chloe grin up at the brunette. It was enough to make Beca blush, though she couldn’t really identify why, and her script was thrown for a loop until Amy cleared her throat and set her back on track. 

“Right, so don’t talk to too many strangers, don’t go down any dark alleys, and keep your personal items in sight.” 

The blonde - Aubrey, apparently - nodded determinedly at Beca before turning to her fiance, whispering a very well thought out strategy for how to attack the town they were stopping in. Emily, was the first to stand up, her hand slipping from her boyfriend’s so that she could fist-pump the air. “Who’s ready for travel?” 

Beca looked once at her youthful enthusiasm, hid her glare, and squeezed back into her seat next to Chloe. They’d been on the bus for about two hours - enough time for Beca to try to learn everyone’s name, but more than enough to learn that jetlag wasn’t a thing Chloe Beale was affected by, and neither was the typical effects of airplanes on someone’s appearance. Not only did she looked like she’d slept more than eight hours the night before, but she was bright, vibrant, and the amount of excitement she had about the trip and the people and the country in general was, frankly, encouraging for Beca. It was a taste of something different amidst all that she’d gotten used to over the years, which was enough to boost Beca up and out of her rote routine and be excited about the trip too. 

“Where’s good?” Chloe asked, her hand going to Beca’s knee. Beca flinched instinctively, unused to that kind of contact. The flinch pulled out a small grimace on Beca’s end, because it was painfully obvious and because it meant that Chloe retracted her contact immediately too. The entire interaction ended with Beca shrugging, pursing her lips. 

“Anywhere, really,” she said. “Amy and I normally just go to the McDonalds nearby. It’s not exotic and special, but it is…quick. Sorry, that’s not helpful.” 

“No, it totally is!” Chloe said, and Beca rolled her eyes. 

“You don’t have to pretend like it is,” she said, “Um, I’m sure if I saw a map I could show you a good restaurant or something and then…”

“How bout I just go with you?” Chloe asked. “I mean, if that’s okay. I feel like it’s not the place but…the people….you know?” 

Beca caught Amy’s stare through the rear-view mirror, feeling flushed at the implications that were written on her face. She shook her head at it, sighed, and glanced at Chloe. 

“No, yeah,” she said quickly, “Yeah. Totes. You can come. Or whatever.” 

Beca had a rule, and that rule was that the tourists stay separate from the tour guide. Sure, there was always an aim at community interaction, and if the tourists wanted to include her in things like group photos, well, she wasn’t really going to say no, but shared meals was something she had yet to involve herself in. Shared individual meals, that is. 

With Chloe, though, it seemed natural. Easy. And not against the rules. 

She also found that she talked more when Chloe was around. Several times throughout the meal, Amy gasped at something Beca said, because she’d hidden enough of her life over the course of their travels that now, when someone was there to ask the right questions, she dropped more than a few bombs. Sure, later that night she’d be wrought with the worry that she talked  _too_ much, but the sound of her voice wasn’t as grating as usual, and when Chloe looked at her while she talked, she  _felt_ like she was being listened to. 

She actually had to remind herself that she was being paid for this. It made her feel guilty, almost, but she tried her best to push that aside. Because it was fun, being there with Chloe, and the stressful weight that normally came with the beginning of these trips seemed to be lifted. 

They got back to the bus fifteen minutes before everyone else, just enough time to check on the gas and the engine. Chloe sighed, leaning against the bus and checking her phone. 

“Thank you,” Beca said, sneaking up on Chloe and tapping her on the shoulder, “For, like, joining us.” 

“Oh,” Chloe stood up straighter. “No, like, thank you for…having me?” 

“It’s just….nice to feel like a person again,” Beca said, her cheeks getting red. “There aren’t many casual hang-out times that happen when you’re touring around the country, you know….”

Chloe laughed politely, looking up when she noticed two girls - Ashley and Jessica, apparently - coming closer to them. “Well, like, if you are ever in the mood for more casual hang-out times on this trip…you know where to find me.” 

“Right,” Beca nodded, uncomfortable. “Right. Yes. Totally.”

 


	222. The Umbrella AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s pouring with rain and there’s space under your umbrella au — sent by snowpocalipse

Beca could handle the rain - at least, she liked to think so. It was water, and it wasn’t like she was particularly soluble, so she always found the fear of rain - the kind that kept people inside for days - to be particularly odd. She could handle the rain. Besides, it didn’t hurt to get a little shower in before class. 

Only, as well as she thought she was handling it, when Chloe saw her from across the courtyard, she looked not unlike a drowning rain swimming upstream. The redhead was reminded of the time she brought a kitten home from the front porch and her mom gave it a bath - not only did it shrink three sizes, but it cowered and shivered and looked inherently more….in  _need_. It was only natural, then, that with the perfect small-girl-sized space under her ladybug umbrella, she would offer to those who (apparently) desperately needed it. 

She slipped up behind the other girl, holding the umbrella slightly higher than it was earlier and deciding not to say anything by way of warning. Immediately upon the pausing of the torrential downpour, the other girl’s shoulders straightened, her shivers almost stopping completely. It was almost cute how the girl seemed self-satisfied somehow - like she’d stopped the rain from coming down in that exact spot. At least until she looked up to see the outline of the ladybug and jumped a least a foot in the air. 

“Jesu–shit!” she said, clutching her chest and staring at Chloe, who had stopped walking. “Who the fuck are you?” 

“Um, a kind stranger?” Chloe answered, grinning at the surprised look on the girl’s face. She didn’t  _enjoy_ torturing people - in fact, she was pretty against it in most situations - but seeing this girl wet and bedraggled like a stubborn alley cat was absolutely adorable. “Protection from mother nature? Someone deserving of a thank you?” 

“You want me to thank you for scaring me half to death?” 

Chloe grinned, cocking her hip. “Mmmmhhmm, I wouldn’t mind.” 

The girl watched Chloe, eyebrows furrowed, until she decided to turn around and continue her walk uphill towards the science quad. Chloe followed, almost right at her side and humming all the way. 

“I could’ve walked alone, you know,” Beca grumbled when they passed the admissions office. 

“No,” Chloe said, “You were drowning out there.” 

“Says you,” the girl mumbled, but Chloe heard the weak insult anyway and laughed out loud. 

“Are you going to thank me now or what?” 

“Or what…” Beca said simply. Chloe’s arm, which had been outstretched, retracted quickly as she turned around. From her periphery she could see Beca’s form immediately crumble again, and she knew this wasn’t really even a battle - the playing fields were wildly uneven, no matter how stubborn this stranger is. “Fine,” Beca relented, and Chloe spun around quickly, punching the air victoriously. 

“I knew you couldn’t resist,” Chloe hummed. She caught up to Beca quickly, even pulling the girl in to rub her hands up and down the chilly arms. The other girl tried to fight the efforts, but Chloe was strong enough to keep her in place. 

“Man you get close to people.” 

“Yeah,” Chloe said, breaking free from the girl to continue their walk. “Well, I get close to people who look like they need it.” 

“And I did?” Beca glared at Chloe from the corner of her eye, but it’s effect was limited. 

“Remember? Drowning rat?” Beca groaned at that, but Chloe just continued laughing. “Anyway, I’m Chloe.” 

“Beca,” the brunette spat out. They reached the science quad around the time they had started the conversation, and if Beca stretched this out any longer, she’d be late for class. She said as much, and Chloe obediently  backed up, letting the rain fall on Beca’s head and avoiding the shiver that only Chloe would notice. 

“Hey,” Chloe said when Beca was just near enough to hear her voice, “Here’s hoping it rains tomorrow too?” 

Beca snorted, pushing at the door that let her into the building. “You wish, Ginge, you wish.” 


	223. The One with the Candygrams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bechloe prompt: Chloe was selling candy canes for the Bella's. (Chloe has had a huge crush on beca for like 5 months) when beca came up to the counter to buy one Chloe kept flirting but beca didn't notice so, Chloe grabed beca and kissed her leaving beca in shock. You can go on from there — sent by anonymous

“Seriously? Candy grams?” Beca held up one of the candy canes, flicking the ribbon that tied the note to it before Chloe snatched it out of her hand quickly, putting it back down on the table. 

“We need money,” Chloe said simply. 

“And playing off of the inherently capitalistic principles of this consumer holiday seemed like a good idea?” 

“Ohh,” Chloe said, grinning, “I do  _love_ it when you talk smart to me.” 

Beca rolled her eyes, her lips pursed, and Chloe appreciated the way she could  _see_ the wheels turning in Beca’s head. She might wear a mask of steel most days, but whatever she felt was so clearly visible in her eyes that it was astonishing, really, that other people never were able to read her. 

“Here,” Chloe added, breaking up the silence that had passed between them. She reached for a candy cane, scribbling quickly on the note and ending with a flourish. She felt Beca’s eyes watching her, which made her hands a little more shaky, but it was no matter. Quickly, she threw it to Beca. “Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry November, actually,” Beca grumbled, and Chloe slapped her on the shoulder. 

“Just open the darned thing.” 

“Right, sorry, patience, grasshopper,” Beca said with a grin, slipping open the note. “A little more sugar for someone who’s oh-so-sweet. Seriously, Chlo?” 

“I’ve been perfecting that one all morning.” 

“Yeah?” Beca said, snapping off the end of the candy cane and slipping it into her mouth. “What were the other options? Please, enlighten me.” 

“’Proof that I can be naughty  _and_ nice’ was high in the running….” 

Beca stared, shocked, at Chloe and promptly choked on the piece of candy she was eating, coughing a few times to settle herself as Chloe chuckled under her breath. If it weren’t for these reactions - the kind of awkward, bubbling embodiments of what Chloe  _felt_ when she saw Beca - then these interactions would be so much harder for the redhead. But literally choking on food at someone’s suggestive comment was enough to boost Chloe’s confidence just enough to egg her on. 

“And, of course, ‘Because I wouldn’t fit in your stocking’.” 

“Okayyyy,” Beca said nervously, letting out a small, broken chuckle. She put the other candy canes down and stared up carefully at Chloe. “I think I’m going to leave now.” 

“So soon?” Chloe said, pulling a pouty face. “But I was just getting started.” 

“No,” Beca held her hands up, and really by the way she was blushing Chloe should’ve known to step down, “No no no, I’m really…fine. Like…totally fine. Fine.” 

But she couldn’t step down, not really, because she was running on a candy cane sugar high, and Beca was wearing a fall sweater that matched her eyes just perfectly enough to make her _glow._ When the rose blush of Beca’s cheeks were added to the mixture, Chloe’s heart wasn’t beating any longer - it was actually, literally  _racing_. So the redhead jumped up from the seat she was situated in, ignoring Aubrey’s annoyed scoffs, and raced to Beca, who was only a foot away. 

“Becs,” she said quickly, breathless. She knew if she stopped to catch whatever breath she had left, she’d reconsider what she was doing. Which she  _really_ didn’t want to do. “I have another one for you.” 

“I don’t need an–” 

Beca’s words were swallowed up in a meager squeak when Chloe pressed her lips against hers, hands on cheeks as Beca stiffened, then melted into the touch. She put her hands on Chloe’s hips, urging her closer, and Chloe sighed into the feeling of Beca on her lips - she tasted like peppermint and coffee, a flavor that Chloe was sure they shared in that moment, and her face was warm where her hands were cold, creeping along the bottom edge of Chloe’s sweater. They broke away only when Aubrey cleared her throat, noticing that there was an entire line for candy gram signups behind them, staring. 

“I want that kind of candy gram,” one boy said, standing behind a few other people in line. Beca laughed, not moving from where she was pressed up against Chloe’s body except for nuzzling her head into Chloe’s neck. 

“What the hell what that, Beale?” 

“It’s too early to pretend that was a Christmas present, isn’t it?” Chloe asked, biting her lip. Beca laughed out loud, then, the sound so much sweeter when it’s source was so close to her ear. 

“It’s  _November_ ,” Beca said slowly, again, and Chloe shrugged noncommittally. 

“So a Thanksgiving offering, then.” 

“Dear God,” Beca grumbled, her hands moving up to Chloe’s shoulders and hugging her close. “I’m scared of what Hanukkah might mean to you.” 

“Scared?” Chloe asked. She leaned down slightly, her lips ghosting over Beca’s ear. “Or excited?” 

The responding squeak was enough to send Chloe’s gut tumbling again. 


	224. The Wifi AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m your new neighbor and I’m using your wifi au — sent by snowpocalipse

It wasn’t really stealing if the thing that was being stolen  _should really_ be free for everyone anyway. If Starbucks let you have it without paying, then, logically, it wasn’t something  _worth_ paying for. 

Besides, there was only so long that Beca could stare at the paint chips peeling off of her new walls - she  _had_ to make sure the landlord knew that those weren’t her fault before she signed the final agreement - until she was bound to go insane. There was a mix making it’s way through her head already, and without the glories of online downloads, it would just keep banging up against her temples and begging for some sort of escape. 

So it was really just through hope and a bit of luck that Beca found “Hella Bella Wifi” on her list of possible connections, and it wasn’t exactly her fault that whoever owned that network wasn’t password protected. Really, in this day in age, not having a password was practically _asking_ someone to hack in. 

And sure, she’d only opened up that webpage as a means of taking one short, singular break between moving in and actually unpacking, but for whatever reason (the reason was obvious – she didn’t have the money to buy her own router) she ended up sneaking onto Hella Bella Wifi every single day for about a month. It wasn’t the fastest, but it was definitely the cheapest. With her late morning to late evening schedule, she never saw her neighbors, which meant never having to lie or put a face to the crime that was, as of now, victimless. 

At least, until there was a hesitant knocking on her door at half-past two on her one Sunday off. Beca was dressed in sweatpants - or, rather, a shirt that reached her knees and leggings that were too big for her deer legs, pooling around the knees. She hadn’t had coffee yet, but that was no matter, because she hadn’t, exactly, gotten out of bed yet. So when she swung her legs over the mattress to get to the incessant knocker, she felt the effects of a lack of caffeine. 

“Chill, dude, you don’t have to keep doing that,” Beca said upon opening the door without even looking at the person who greeted her. She was yawning, eyes closed, and it wasn’t until she stopped that she noticed fully the girl standing before her. If Beca was a Sunday morning mess than this girl was….a Friday night out, in the  _best_ way. Except, without the sparkly skirt and low-cut top - unfortunately, Beca thought to herself somewhat embarrassingly - instead she was donning what looked like the perfect apple-picking outfit: a fuzzy tan sweater, dark green corduroys, and lace-up boots. Even her cheeks were pinched pink by the wind, although the perfect state of her hair was enough to hint that she hadn’t been outside yet either. 

In her hands, though, was a thing that looked not unlike a bill. 

“Hi,” Beca said, her voice a small squeak. While her greeting only a few seconds ago was tired and harsh, she suddenly regretted speaking without looking. She couldn’t tell if the pursed lip expression the other woman wore was one of frustration or one of amusement. “Can I help you?” 

“I…um…this is a weird question,” the other woman said, and Beca saw that was could’ve been anger was more just embarrassment. Or modesty. Or whatever. “I live across the hall…”

Beca nodded to wear the other woman was pointing, urging her to continue. 

“Well, I got my internet and cable bill the other day and I was just w–”

“Oh, fuck,” Beca blurted. The redheaded woman stared at her owlishly, blinking a few times in surprise at the outburst. It was, for lack of a better word, adorable. But that wasn’t the first thing on Beca’s mind, because she quickly saw all the minutes she had been traversing the internet world tally up in her head. 

And the number wasn’t too pretty. 

She covered her face with her hands, groaning to herself. “I’m the worst person.” 

“No!” the other woman said. Her hand was on Beca’s arm before Beca really knew what to do with it, and when she froze to look at it, the other woman retracted it.  “Sorry. I was just, like, wondering. I’m not here to…like, curse you out or something.”

“Curse me out?” 

“I don’t know! I’m just…I don’t mean anything malicious about asking, I was just curious who it was,” the woman said quickly. “Who it is.” 

“I can, like,  _stop_ using it,” Beca said. “I’ve just been too busy with work and…”

“I get it,” the woman said, holding her hand up. It happened to be the hand with the bill, though, and Beca tried to peek at the numbers before she realized that she  _desperately_ didn’t want to know. 

“No, but…tomorrow. I’ll, uh, call the internet guy. Or whatever. Whoever you call for that kind of shit.” 

The woman nodded, watching Beca for a second too long and suddenly making the other girl very aware of her outfit - or lack thereof. She reshifted her weight, holding onto the edge of the door uncomfortably. The movement was enough to wake the other woman up from whatever reverie she was journeying through. “I’m Chloe, by the way,” the redhead said. Beca nodded, pointing sardonically to herself. 

“Beca. Professional wifi stealer.” 

“You know, Starbucks has free wifi,” Chloe said, and Beca smiled. 

“Oh, trust me, I’m  _very_ aware. It’s about all I know about that place, but that doesn’t stop me from camping out when necessary.” Chloe nodded at that, her fingers trailing up the door frame slowly. 

“We could…both use the wifi….there….sometime…if you want?” 

Beca raised an eyebrow in response, and Chloe’s smirk widened. 

“Just as neighbors, obvs. Coffee runs are things neighbors do.”

“Oh, totes,” Beca said, using the same kind of strange semi-mocking tone that the other girl was using. She wasn’t sure what it meant or where it was going, just that she currently couldn’t stop grinning. “I mean, we’re neighbors. We should….do what neighbors do.” 

“Right.”

“Yeah.” 

For a few more seconds they stood there, until Beca hit the door lightly, still making Chloe jumped. “So I should probably head back,” she said, pointing back to her kitchen. The redhead sniffed the air, smiling. 

“I can cook too,” she said as she started to back away from the door, “It that’s a plus”. 

“I can always pay you back your wifi bill with compliments about your food?” Beca tried, and Chloe laughed. Beca realized that she recognized what that sounded like through the walls. 

“Sounds fair,” Chloe said, finally turning around completely. “See you around, Beca.” 

“Yeah,” Beca said quietly. “See you around.” 


	225. The Parking Space AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We both really want that parking space au — sent by snowpocalipse

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Beca was a car talker. Or, rather, a car yeller. Jesse once threatened that he would purchase earbuds to protect his rather fragile innocence from her crude vocabulary.

And if she was a car yeller, she was also a car…signer? She preferred to use her hands to communicate the things that she knew the other drivers couldn’t hear, though most of the time that just meant that she would hold her hands up angerly in a semi-shrugging manner.

Whatever, it got the point across.

And right now, stationed directly across from a convertible bug that was too ridiculous to be allowed on the road, she knew that the driver on the other side could very clearly see her reaction to the current situation. Which was something along the lines of her original outburst accompanied by hands held up and occasionally, frustratingly slamming her hands on the skeleton of the steering wheel.

The other driver honked her horn, then, which not only made Beca jump but resulted in overcompensation of anger to hide the jump, eventually pulling Beca out of the car completely.

The door slammed before she even realized that she was getting out of her seat, and the sound was enough to bust her out of the haze that was brought out by the girlish horn-honk of the other car. The driver, a woman with red hair that was carefully curled around her face - enough to indicate that she was coming from some kind of job - didn’t seem as scared as Beca would’ve hoped, and the brunette swore under her breath. She didn’t want this to be a thing. She was just recovering, really, from her last driving infraction, and the dream would be that she could…assert her dominance…and that would be enough to scare the other person away from the spot.

The only spot in the parking lot. Aside from approximately ten other spots.

This was really overwhelmingly unnecessary. And no part of Beca - except the part that wanted to get to work on-time - really cared.

“Can I help you?” the other woman said, getting out of her own car. She was only an inch or two taller than Beca, and donning a sundress that was equivalent to either a kindergarten teacher, secretary, or….professional sunshine human?

Okay, not the right thought for someone she was supposed to be verbally dueling for a parking spot.

“Yeah, actually, you can get out of my spot,” Beca said, pointing to the empty space. The redhead crossed her arms, jaw set determinedly, and sat on the hood of her car.

“I don’t see your name on it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Beca pinched the bridge of her nose, turning around slightly and breathing out. “Okay, okay, no I’m not doing this today.”

She turned back to the car door, opening it quickly. It wasn’t until her seatbelt was buckled that she nearly jumped out of her skin. The other woman was looking directly through the driver’s window, knocking.

“What the hell?” Beca hissed as she worked to crank the window open. The other girl pulled a face, glancing down at the knob that Beca was working on.

“You still have one of those old things?” the girl said, her voice much softer - much higher - than it was before.

“It’s an old car,” Beca grumbled, “Used and…You know what, why am I talking to you? Can we please just leave now?”

“Right, sorry, I uh….” the woman looked over to her car, pursed her lips, and then forced her hand into the crack of the window. “I’m Chloe.”

“Cool,” Beca said shortly. “I’m late.”

“I just….um….what was that song you were listening to,” Chloe asked, squinting. Beca shook her head, turning the key in the ignition.

“A mix.”

“A mix you made?”

“Yes.” Beca put the car in drive, but kept her foot on the brake.

“It was really go–”

“What the fuck is happening here, can you, like, explain?” Beca snapped at Chloe, her eyebrows somewhere near her forehead. The redhead looked concerned, or confused, or some mixture of the two, and considered her next words carefully before she finally sighed, closed her eyes, and shook her head ever so slightly.

“I’m just…like….You’re pretty. I totally didn’t know you were pretty when I honked at you.”

“Um…thanks?” Beca’s hands were dancing over the steering wheel uncomfortable, and Chloe glanced back at her car again. The habit was almost frustrating if Beca couldn’t see the way the cogs were working in the other girl’s head. Like she needed to look away to collect it all. It was then that Beca could acknowledge that, yeah, okay, Chloe was actually pretty pretty too. That didn’t help the whole parking situation but…it just needed to be said.

“See,” Chloe bit her lip, looking worriedly at Beca and taking another deep breath. “I don’t want to park, because then you’ll park somewhere else, and then I won’t see you again, and that would be a shame. Don’t you think?”

Beca’s mouth opened without her permission, so when she snapped it shut in her suprise, it nearly scared her. “You….Um….I….with the….”

“A date,” Chloe said, eyes shining. “A date would be nice. Or a hang-out. Or…whatever. A friendly game of eye-spy in the coffee shop to determine who gets the spot next time? I’m totes up for suggestions.”

“Totes,” Beca repeated mindlessly. She blinked twice, shaking her head to clear it of the echoing effect it had taken on. “Sorry, I…um…”

“You’ve got your mind on that parking space,” Chloe said, nodding. She stood up straight from where she was leaning into the window, sighing. “That’s fine. I was…presumptious. So you just…take the spot and I’ll walk-err, drive- away with my tail between my legs.”

Beca watched the other girl start the journey to her car, her feet almost dragging against the asphalt in a cartoonish way. She was halfway across the chasm between us when Beca leaned out the window, shouting, “You know, only hippies drive VWs. You’re not a hippie are you?”

She could see in the way Chloe held her shoulders that the redhead, who had stopped walking at the sound of Beca’s voice, was now smiling broadly. Radiating, Beca thought. She spun around, holding her hand up to act as a visor for her eyes.

“You’ll just have to get food with me and find out, hmm?”

And this time, for the first time, Beca decided to car shout something a little less…violent than her usual word choice allowed. She grinned back at the girl, who, yes, was significantly more than pretty now that she was really focusing on it, and gestured towards her car. “You park,” she said, “I’ll drive. But don’t think for a second that I’m letting a random stanger pick out the music.”

“Does this mean I win?” Chloe asked, almost vibrating with excitement. Beca rolled her eyes openly, the smirk never leaving her face.

“You’re the one paying for coffee, so…it depends how you define winning.”

 


	226. The One With Beca's Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can you do one for beca's bday and beca forgets it her own bday until chloe does something really romantic for her. idk — sent by anonymous

Birthdays passed by Beca like parked cars in the corners of drug store lots - silent, forgotten, and ownerless. They were just days, like any other, and she didn’t personally believe that the world should stop just to celebrate the anniversary of someone’s birth. 

She never really thought, though, that she would be cynical enough to literally  _forget_ her birthday. Because hating birthdays was, admittedly, pretty sad. But forgetting your own? 

In her defense, she was in the thick of the internship and the Bellas scandal was just on the down-swing, which meant entirely too much strategizing for the rest of the year and visualizations that Beca couldn’t really comprehend most of the time. So when she woke up on the day of her birthday, already fifteen minutes past the time when her alarm originally went off, she barely had enough time for a quick shower and a to-go mug of coffee let alone time to consider the fact that Chloe was making pancakes with pieces of oreos broken up in the batter. Sure, it was her favorite breakfast, but it was also just generally a house favorite, and the creepy smile Chloe was throwing at her while she microwaved leftover coffee wasn’t _that_ different from what she was usually greeted with. 

In fact, she managed to make it through the entire workday without realizing it, even when Chloe kept shooting her strange, cryptic emoji texts of excitement that Beca couldn’t fully understand. Her mom called her around noon, but she never had the chance to listen to the voicemail - she assumed it was something about the new boyfriend that was in her mom’s life, or something along those lines. Some secretary working the desk had had a birthday over the weekend, which meant cake and paper plates and…

…Yeah, she really should’ve realized. 

That made the moment she walked back into their house to see Chloe standing over the skillet all the more shocking. She was wearing one of Beca’s old plaid shirts, her exercise shorts beneath just short enough to not be seen. Her hair was up, and one of the mixes was playing over the loudspeakers set up throughout the kitchen. 

It was a time that she was used to walking in and being attacked by the other Bellas and their various daily issues, so when there was no one but Chloe, smiling over at her, she quirked her eyebrows. 

“Where’re the girls?” she asked, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. She nearly hopped when she smelled the meal cooking, though, and lost track of the concerned confusion. “And what the  _hell_ are you making?” 

“Omelette du fromage,” Chloe said, exaggerating the French accent and leaning in while she said it. Beca reached over her and the skillet to get a cherry tomato from the box, popping it into her mouth and smiling. 

“I love it when you speak French,” Beca said jokingly, and Chloe squinched her nose, wiggling it in Beca’s face. “What’s the occasion?” 

Stopping mid-face-making, Chloe closed her mouth, standing up straight. Her eyes went from the skillet to Beca to somewhere on the wall like she was looking at a secret documentary camera to express her shock. Beca slapped her lightly on the shoulder, scoffing. “Come on, Beale, what’s the deal?” 

“You’re joking,” Chloe said, forgetting the eggs altogether. “You  _have_ to be.” 

“Uh…joking about what, Chlo?” Beca was getting annoyed by the way Chloe’s face was lighting up, her eyes sparkling and cheeks getting red. It was enough to let her know that she _should_ be embarrassed by whatever she seemed to be missing. Without answering - which was all the more infuriating - Chloe turned to pick up her phone, pressing the home button and showing it to Beca. 

“November 5th,” Chloe chirped. With Beca leaning in to read the date, Chloe’s face was closer to hers, and their eyes met with a shared smile. “The day a Miss Beca Mitchell was born.” 

“I’m an idiot,” Beca grumbled, stepping back. She shook her head. “I’m so dumb.” 

“You’re funny,” Chloe giggled, grabbing onto Beca’s arm. She tugged it, nearly jumping up and down. “You  _missed your own birthday.”_

 _“_ Shut up,” Beca mumbled. She waved at Chloe, wiping away her pull. “Like, shut up right now.” 

“Okay, so it’s your birthday but I’m not following that command,” Chloe said, tugging Beca closer. Finally, the brunette gave in, melting into the hug that Chloe gave from behind. Chloe’s chin was rested on Beca’s shoulder, and she hummed. “Because this is adorable, and because we’re celebrating, even if you didn’t  _know_ we were  _supposed_ to celebrate.” 

“But you’re still going to make fun of me,” Beca said quietly, and Chloe laughed out loud. “And you’re burning my meal.” 

“Oh,  _your_ meal?  _Your_ meal? I don’t see you slaving over the skillet, missy.” 

“No,” Beca said lightly, the smile growing on her face. “Because it’s  _my birthday._ I don’t know if you’ve heard.” 

“I’ve heard,” Chloe said. She returned back to the skillet, flipping the omelette just in time. “I just want to make sure you have. Yeah?” 


	227. The One With the Bullying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi ik you've got a small mountain of prompts already and i'm sorry for adding to it but: highschool!au where chloe is freshman and beca is older and bec tries to flirt with her but bc of how awkward she is chloe thinks she's bullying her and cries... — sent by anonymous

Beca didn’t flirt. It wasn’t that she preferred not to flirt, or that she was particularly out of practice. She just…didn’t flirt. She managed to pass through the entirety of middle evading that specific area of pre-pubescence, and while high school wasn’t necessarily  _void_ of experience, any and all romantic interactions were random, spontaneous instances that seemed to go away as quick as they came - a night at concert with the girl she ran into at the bar (who totally called out her fake), or a few hidden meet-ups with her boss the summer she worked concessions at the pool. 

She wouldn’t say that now, with the redhead situated at the front of her class, she was necessarily  _driven_ to flirt. She didn’t even really realize that she was giving the whole flirting thing a go until after she’d started, and it was only then that she became undoubtedly aware that flirting wasn’t only a thing she never did - it was also a thing she never  _should_ do. 

Largely because, well, her efforts may or may not have ended in the other girl crying. Which, if the shows her step mom watched were any indication, was  _so_ not the way it was supposed to go. 

She first noticed Chloe in the front of her music class, and then, later, when she auditioned for the girls choir. It was better the second time, because Beca was stationed high in the chairs, and Chloe was standing on the main floor of the music room, and the height difference was enough to make Beca feel like she was  _allowed_ to assess. 

She was a sophomore, according to the choir application, but Beca hadn’t seen her around school until the beginning of this particular year, and she was nearly positive that a girl with that voice would’ve been noticeable to Beca much earlier if she’d actually been around. 

At that was it, originally. The voice. It was high, tinkling almost, but not in an annoying way. In a way that was inherently different from the unshaking sound of Beca’s singing, like it should be accompanied by a ukelele or an acoustic guitar. It was soft. Fragile. Beca realized quickly, though, through stares in the lunchroom and moments of passing out sheet music, that Chloe Beale fit her voice.  _She_ was soft, and fragile, and tinkling in a way that was never annoying. 

The fact that she was always smiling, even when it looked like she didn’t want to, was not lost on the school’s grumpiest soloist. That only served to make her more exotic, somehow. 

So when she bumped into Chloe in the hallway, half-lost in the way Chloe’s skirt was buttoned down the center and pointing down to knee socks while reaching up to a tight-fitting white sweater and half-lost in the action that she didn’t even know she was performing, she smiled sweetly, shook away her nerves, and said, “Sorry ‘bout that” in her best raspy voice. 

Two days later, when she was leading rehearsals instead of Ms. Posen - who was out sick for the day anyway - and Chloe raised her hand because she didn’t get the papers, Beca put on the same grin and tried again with “Come over here and get it then, why don’t you?” 

Everytime she did it, she walked away feeling jittery, running the scene over and over in her head and then mentally beating herself for the amount of anxiety she was spending on a girl two years her junior. She had people her own age to go for, and practicing on a sophomore didn’t work too well when it seemed like, from every angle, you were failing horribly. 

There was a piece of the little engine that could revving up within Beca, though, driving her forward to trick harder, to be more obvious, so that when Chloe didn’t get the moves for the glee club performance, she put her hands on the redhead’s hips and guided them herself. “Try not to mess it up next time,” she said, her voice nothing more than a whisper in Chloe’s ear. 

It was all building to a point that Beca couldn’t see from where she was standing, until she asked Chloe to stay back after class. She tried to ignore the way the redhead nervously fidgeted in response, throwing out a weak “yeah, okay” before practically biting her thumb off in anxiety. 

“You need practice,” Beca said, her hand trailing over the piano. She tripped slightly on the leg of the instrument, but played it off with a slight grimace and kept moving. “I would help you, you know. On your time though.” 

“That would be–”

“Because we need to, like, sound cohesive. And so you should work on your…cohesion. Or whatever,” Beca continued. So, she was faltering. It was the furthest she’d gone thus far, though, and instead of hearing the sounds of Chloe agreeing, she could just hear the rush of blood in her ears. “Your cohesion with me, particularly. Because, god, you are just. not. getting. it.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Chloe breathed, her voice sharp enough to break Beca out of whatever scene she was trying to portray. Her voice was shaking, unsteady, but her words were sharp. “Why do you, like, hate me?” 

“What?”

“You hate me!” Chloe said, her hands thrown up at her sides. “You just keep telling me what I’m doing wrong, and I’m trying, I really am, but nothing works because you hate me. I’m just this, like, lowly sophomore for you to prey on or something and…” Chloe took a deep breath, collecting herself. It didn’t work though, because with the following words she broke into deep sobs. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” 

Beca watched the girl crumble into her desk, hands covering up her eyes as quiet sobs wracked through her. 

And if there was one thing Beca was worse at than flirting, it was handling people who were crying. 

“Fuck,” she said quickly, under her breath, but the curse word only served to further Chloe’s cries. She stood up from where she was leaning against the piano, racing the redhead’s side. “Chloe, that’s so not…this isn’t….I wasn’t trying to…”

“You don’t have to pretend to be nice now,” Chloe wailed, “It’s not like I don’t know how much you hate me. You can’t walk through the hall without staring me down like I’m some…like I’m some…lose _rrrr_.” 

“Chloe, shit,” Beca said again, wincing when it only resulted in a very loud whine from the other girl. Carefully, she reached out her hand, landing it on Chloe’s shoulder with an awkward pat. “Can you just….” she sighed, scratching her head. “Chloe!” she said sharply, “Jesus, stop fucking crying and let me talk!” 

The redhead looked up at her, surprised and scared, with eyes widened from complete frozen fear. Two tears were streaming down her cheeks, and she was squeaking from lack of words and breath combined, but she was focused on Beca. Sure, it was mostly because Beca had scared her enough to get her to pay attention, but that wasn’t too important. She hoped that with what she had to say, she might melt that fear away. 

“So, you’re not doing anything wrong,” Beca breathed out uncomfortably. Chloe started crying again, and though she rolled her eyes, she tried to continue. “Apparently it’s me. Doing the wrong thing.” 

“What?”

“I don’t…” Beca paused. “I don’t hate you. Actually, it’s kind of the opposite.” 

“Beca, you’re the captain of the girl choir an–”

“And I don’t hate you,” Beca reiterated slower this time, meeting Chloe’s eyes. The other girl looked confused, lost, and Beca wanted more than anything to take her shoulders in that moment and shake her. 

“Then why are you so mean to me?” Chloe asked, her voice impossibly small. Beca breathed out, moving to sit down in the desk next to the other girl’s. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” Beca said, already hating the ounce of vulnerability it took to manage that. Chloe closed her mouth, nodding determinedly. “I was kind of trying to flirt.” 

It was quiet between them for more than couple of moments, the seconds on the clock ticking by loudly and stretching the space around them. Chloe’s eyes were clearing of the haze of tears, replaced with a sort of amusement that - while nice to see in a beautiful girl who had just been crying - was not something Beca particularly  _wanted_ to see as a response to her confession. 

“You were….” Chloe started. Beca jumped at the interruption of silence. “You were trying to flirt? With me?” 

Beca nodded embarrassed. Chloe laughed, then, which made Beca look up quickly. 

“I told you not to laugh!” 

“I know! I’m sorry! It’s just…” Chloe held her hand in front of her mouth to quell the giggles, and while Beca hated how her cheeks were burning up, she did love the freeness that came with the laughter - a freeness that she hadn’t seen Chloe with in all the weeks she had been observing her. “That was really bad flirting, Beca. I mean, I’m sorry to say that…”

“It’s fine,” Beca said quickly. “You’re a sophomore - that doesn’t deny you of your right to speech.” 

“True,” Chloe nodded. She laughed again, then, shaking her head. It was that moment that Beca decided to shove her - the first contact they’d had at all. The resulting was burning, and Chloe noticed it too, a hitch in her breath. “So….God. Flirting? You’re sure?” 

“I mean, that was the attempt, yeah,” Beca muttered, wincing when Chloe laughed again. She hated that it made her insides twitch. 

“Okay, so maybe you’re the one who needs some work,” Chloe said definitively. Beca watched her,  _feeling_ the confidence of the younger woman grow with the seconds that passed. She realized that she’d been watching the wrong Chloe all these weeks. She’d been watching the Chloe that  _knew_ she was watching. The Chloe that was under the impression that Beca was…bullying…her? 

This Chloe was different. 

This Chloe was currently in the process of making Beca feel like the sophomore. Or some kind of sweaty, nervous equivalent. 

“I could, like, help you with that,” Chloe finished, her tone smooth and steady and smirking. Beca watched the curse of her lips, her stomach doing flips, and realized that, yeah, Chloe would be a pretty damn good teacher. 

But instead of saying that in so many words, she reached up, gathering the final tear still on Chloe’s face, and using that as leverage to tilt Chloe’s chin towards her, leaning in. 

Because she wasn’t the best with flirting. Admittedly. 

But she wasn’t too shabby at kissing. 


	228. The One With the Bulletin Board

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does this count as a prompt? Almost all the art on Beca's bulletin board next to her desk is from Chloe... What is on that bulletin board and why did Beca keep it? — sent by scrawniest-calamity

The bulletin board had grown over the years. 

It started simply as a place for her to hang her most proud detention slips from high school, because sentimentality was only useful as a reminder of all the dumb shit the world did. 

Over the course of her freshman year, though, Chloe started infiltrating. It happened slowly, so gradually that Beca hadn’t even noticed, and it started with the corner of their Bella sheet music, which had a tiny drawing of a cup with music notes surrounding it. “Save me” it said, and Beca was reminded constantly of the moment Chloe ripped that off the corner in the middle of Aubrey’s lecture on the importance of hand placement - it was when she realized that the redhead was human too, despite her normally uncanny ability to deal with Aubrey and all her insanity. 

By the end of her freshman year, there was also a movie ticket to a science fiction trilogy that Chloe dragged her too in the beginning of her Christmas break. They both had late flights back home - at least a day later than all the other girls - which meant that they were abandoned on campus together. They spent the day without once stepping foot on the floor, switching positions on matching twin beds until Beca was sitting upside down, her hair a curtain over the edge of the bed. By nighttime, Chloe wanted to “do something”, and that something was drinking too much pink wine and walking (stumbling) all the way over to the local theater. Chloe had had most of the movie memorized, and Beca watched her lips move to the lines instead of watching the actually movie, because she found it funny that the redhead pretended like she wasn’t familiar with the story at all. It showed her she was concerned with how she came across too, and it was that night that they sat on the curb of the parking lot at midnight, trying to make their own constellations. 

When Chloe thought she was graduating the first time, she wrote Beca a note in mid-April. One that said all the traditional things, like, “Keep in touch” and “Remember me when you’re famous”, but it also had a drawing of a mouse in a flight attendant outfit, and the promise that, “No one has changed the world quite as much as you’re going to. I know this because you changed me.” 

She came back unexpectedly in Beca’s second year, and once she made the joke that that was because she needed to fill out the bulletin board in order to consider “her mission” done. So she continued, this time printing out a picture of herself when she was a baby and sticking it onto the board without Beca noticing. She was shrunken, her hair impossibly curly and unbrushed, while her 101 Dalmations pajamas brought out the blue in her eyes, and she was winking. Her tongue was sticking out, too, and on nights when Chloe hung out on Beca’s bed, she would look at the photo and repeat the look without fail. 

Another addition was a ripped page from a coloring book, two cats fighting over a ball of yarn that Chloe disguised as the pitch pipe. One was dark, with stripes of blue and magenta and noticeable piercings on her ears, while the other was red with a blue collar. It said, “Be my favorite PussyCaptian (?)” followed by Beca’s scrawling handwriting saying, “This is a terrible pun. But yes.” 

There was the program to that year’s graduation, which Chloe skipped, knowing that she wasn’t getting a diploma anyway. That day, in order to distract the redhead, Beca wandered the halls of the emptied Bellas house putting pieces of paper down in random places, guiding Chloe through a scavenger hunt that led them to their favorite milkshake place, where Chloe dared her to eat a fried pickle, and Beca promptly fell in love. 

With fried pickles. Obviously. 

There were a few Valentine’s day cards piled in there - the kinds that were painfully corny and vaguely suggestive, because those were Chloe’s favorite - and Beca remembered every time Chloe handed one to her with a wink and a shake of her butt. “For my  _lover_ ,” Chloe would say, and Beca would wince, saying “Gross” before hearing a lecture from the redhead about how important best friends were on the Valentine’s Days turned Galentine’s Days. 

And then there were a few notes, hand-written, because Chloe was bored in class or because she was on vacation in the summer and “just saw this dog that looked  _just_ like you, Becs, it was insane”. These ones were smeared and torn along the lines that she folded them on, because Beca tended to take them with her on the toughest days, keeping them in her pocket and running her fingers over them when she needed some kind of strength. 

Her senior year, the filling of the bulletin board stopped slightly, though there was a new pile of post-its on them every few weeks that reminded Beca that she was “sexy af” or “hawt stuf” or something of that kind of fantastic content. Beca let them pile up, because when Chloe wandered into her room, she would take one of them off the board and stick it to Beca’s forehead. 

There was, of course, the Russian Lit final that Chloe  _finally_ aced - that was a recent one, the red letter grade shining over all the other colors of the board - and the photo of them on the plane at Worlds, sleeping cuddled up with each other because Chloe wanted to “remind” Beca “how cute you are”. With that came the plane ticket and the hotel room card, all filled with Chloe’s heart doodles or drawings of bacon and cherries and whatever other thing Chloe was thinking about in the moment. 

Beca finished putting her last box into the truck, her arms tingling from the weight it held over the course of the day, knowing that her last step was taking the bulletin board down. 

She didn’t want to do it. In fact, she was desperately dreading it, but everyone except for Chloe was already moved out, and it was the last thing standing in the way of her going on her way to LA. 

It didn’t really cross her mind that there was more than just that in her way. 

That is, until she sat on her bed, reaching up to take the bulletin board down. A neon yellow post-it had sneaked onto it, and Beca looked down at it curiously. “I love you” it said, the “o” becoming a heart under the very clever hand of Chloe’s cursive scrawl. “Come downstairs”. 

It was accompanied by a winky face, but Beca didn’t question that, because she was blushing, and she was crying, and she was walking down the steps before realizing it. 

“There was one extra spot,” Chloe said from the bottom of the steps. “I would’ve failed if I let you leave without covering that one spot.” 

“Sure,” Beca said, swallowing her tears. “Sure.” 

“Becs,” Chloe said, walking up one step to meet Beca. From this angle, she was taller than Chloe, looking down at the girl, who looked inexplicably afraid. She reached out without thinking, running her thumb over Chloe’s cheek. “I love you.” 

“I know,” Beca whispered, feeling it like a sigh. “I love you too. I love you too.”

The bulletin board had grown over the years. 

But so did they. So did this. 

Impossibly fast and impossibly slow and all at once, and Beca wouldn’t have had it any other way.  


	229. The One with No Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we always see finacially stable-perfect bechloe but what about finacially-unstable bechloe where they dont have a lot of money so when chloe's birthday comes around beca trys her best to get some expensive thing that shes been saving up for ((fluff the duck as much as you want by duck i mean fanfic [i really hope you watch grace mamrie and hannah otherwise this is v awkward])) — sent by anonymous

She was almost  _too_ good at saving money. It drove Chloe insane, the way she would pack for every lunch, opting for a night in with blanket forts and cheap wine instead of a night out on the town. Sure, the redhead understood the situation clear enough, but living in the city under only the salary of a private school teacher didn’t mean they couldn’t spend  _one_ night at a restaurant of  _mediocre_ levels of fanciness. 

When they did manage to go out, Beca would fix Chloe with a stare every time she went to the bar, and the solution Chloe had concocted wasn’t one that Beca particularly enjoyed. “Chlo, that’s practically prostitution,” she had said the first time Chloe wore a lower cut shirt to get free drinks for the two of them. The redhead smiled, shrugged, and said, “I get paid 80 cents to all of their dollars, so I think they can afford to spend some money on getting me and my girlfriend tipsy.” 

It was actually something Beca had to work on. Spending money became as much of a skill as saving money was. Sometimes, life called for expenses - whether for necessities or for pleasure - and Beca was actively trying to rationalize those moments every time they came up. 

The whole saving thing came in handy, though, because that proverbial “rainy day” she always said she was stashing away money for tended to come by more frequently than ever in the past few months. Their heater broke, and then Chloe’s car needed a new set of tires, and then there was the plane ticket to visit Aubrey (because no good god-mother misses out on the birth of their god-child,  _duh_ ). All that, combined with the astonishingly low wages she was being given at the studio - it was barely a job, and really more of an experiment called “how little can we pay this woman before it becomes slave labor” - made it so that even the prospect of Chloe’s birthday, and all of her birthday wishes, gave Beca a headache. 

In the past, over the years, Chloe had settled for nights spent in, cuddled in a room filled with candles while Beca willingly watched her favorite movies for the only time ever without complaint. Beca would cook something for them, or they’d splurge for Chinese, and in their pajamas they’d eat out of the carton. She could see how much Chloe was telling the truth when she said she loved those birthday nights together - she wouldn’t lie about something like that - but the brunette couldn’t ever really shake the feeling that Chloe always wanted something more. 

She thought that maybe not even Chloe realized that.

So despite all the rainy days, and despite not getting that raise she was hoping to snatch, she was a girl who saved and saved well, keeping enough money packed away to just barely pay for an easel and new paints - cutting it dangerously close with the addition of sales tax. 

And she knew, as she stood in the middle of the tiny apartment with her hand running over the wood of the easel, that it was worth every penny. Chloe had been so preoccupied with work - coming home late and leaving extra early to put together the perfect show for Christmas. Beca knew for a fact that aside from a few doodles here and there, Chloe hadn’t made anything for a long time. Not since graduation, actually, and although diamonds are a girl’s best friend, Beca always knew that art was Chloe’s favorite. The kind of best friend you leave for a while and then revisit only to realize that nothing had changed at all. 

It would be nice to see her painting again, even if only for moments between staying and going, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt for fear of getting paint everywhere, her hair thrown up haphazardly. She got this look on her face when she focused on her subject that was so squinty-eyed and considerate Beca couldn’t ever help but move her position as model to reach up and kiss her. 

When Chloe came home that night, the lights were off. 

“Beca?” she said excitedly, her hands hovering over the light switch. Her birthday was, by far, her favorite holiday, and she wasn’t one to expect anyone to be stingy. She bit her lip, calling out again. “Becs, your car is here but your lights are off. If this is a surprise part–”

“Oh shut up,” Beca said from a corner of the room. “You think I would willingly organize a party? My love is strong, but it can’t overcome everything.”

Chloe giggled, hands still on the light switch. With a squeak, she turned on the lights, and in the center of the room was the easel, positioned to stare at her, with Beca standing behind it. She was easily visible, but she looked like she was peeking out, furthering the adorableness of it. “Ta-da,” she said weakly, pushing off of the easel to stand straight. “Happy birthday, babe.” 

Chloe squealed - actually, physically squealed - and while Beca was holding her ear, she was also smiling. “You’ve always had a thing for artists,” Chloe commented with an eyebrow raised as she scanned the easel. Beca shrugged. 

“Their minds are oh so irresistible,” Beca joked, and Chloe laughed, letting the giggle linger for a moment longer before she sighed, looking at Beca with the biggest blue eyes Beca had ever seen. 

“Becs, it’s too much.”

“It’s not enough, actually,” Beca commented. She was behind Chloe now, wrapping her arms around the other girl’s waist. “Not for you.” 

“But how did you….how did we…”

“It’s a rainy day,” Beca said simply, pressing her lips into Chloe’s neck. The redhead chuckled, shaking her head. Her eyes never once left the sight of the gift. 

“Thank you,” Chloe whispered, tears already starting to form in her eyes. Beca nudged her, as if to say “stop or I’ll join you” before kissing her again. 

“Anytime, Chlo, anytime.” 


	230. The One With the Sexting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bechloe sexting — sent by anonymous

Beca didn’t text in class, as a general rule. Her overall look of disinterest might be ruined by something that caught her attention, and then the charade would be over, the professor would notice, and discomfort would ensue. It wasn’t worth the struggle. 

Only, Chloe had been weird when she left that morning for class - clingy and cutesy in a way that Beca  _hated_ to admit she loved - and therefore spent the entirety of Beca’s walk to class texting. There was something about a Chloe Beale text that Beca couldn’t ever ignore. 

To be fair, there was something about  _Chloe Beale_ that Beca couldn’t ever ignore. 

Which is what lead her to look at her phone, positioned dangerously out on her desk next to her notebook, the  _minute_ it lit up with Chloe’s name. Or, more accurately, the contact name for Chloe, which as of recently had been changed to “The Hottest Acapella Queen You’ll Ever Meet”. 

_How boring is your class, because im dying here_

Beca snorted, shaking her head. The kid next to her - a freshman with curly hair that was impossibly high and a polo that he’d been wearing since the beginning of the school year - glared at her for the sudden burst of action, but she shrugged it off with a glare of equal bitterness before slipping her phone under the desk. 

_i don’t even know what the prof is talking about right now_

The moment she pressed send, Chloe started typing, and Beca rolled her eyes. She left her alone for fifty minutes at  _most_ , and the redhead was doomed to a death by boredom. Naturally. 

_we can make that more interesting, you kno_

Beca felt a shiver pass up her spine. She knew Chloe. At this point, she knew Chloe  _intimately_ (which, okay, was not helpful to remember at this current moment in time, when she was _trying_ to be rational and reasonable and witty). “Interesting” to the redhead meant something completely different than what it meant for majority of the more innocent citizens of Earth. 

The message was clear enough for Beca to start blushing, which made her angry for a fraction of a second. She was in  _college_ , for God’s sake. She was about to graduate. And here she was with sweaty palms because her girlfriend made  _one_ suggestive comment. 

_rly?_

Again, the response was immediate. Beca bit her lip, imagining why. 

_i dunno if you had anything in mind, but…._

There was another typing bubble before, 

_Ive got a few things i can’t stop thinking about. personally._

Then, 

_dunno if you can handle it, tho._

_might be too….._

_distracting._

Beca nearly choked, the skin on her thumbnail being gnawed at furiously. The shiver that ran up her spine earlier had traveled to her stomach, where it rolled and rolled, and she was positive she was beet red. Looking up quickly, she blinked, putting herself back into place. She was in class. Right. Something about isomers. Right. Afro-donning freshman. Right. She bounced from these three images over and over until she caught her breath. Throwing a quick glance over the the freshman next to her to see if he had caught on (he hadn’t), she looked back down at her phone. 

_Chlo_

Her hands were shaking, which was, admittedly, a touch embarrassing. Truth be told, she didn’t know what to say. There was, of course, the witty option. Shrugging it off with a joke, and possibly punishing her later for what was a humiliating thought process in the middle of Intro Chemistry. 

But there was another option. One much more disorienting and entirely out of her comfort zone. 

_you’re such a tease_

She settled for something in between, knowing in the back of her mind that giving Chloe even the slightest bit of encouragement would allow the redhead to race onward. It was her way of being able to claim that she never explicitly  _requested_ what was about to happen. She was innocent. 

 _then i’ll stop teasing_ , Chloe had texted. The phone slipped out of Beca’s hands without any prelude, tumbling to the floor, and in a race to pick it up, Beca hit her head on the back of the table. “Fuck,” she whispered, earning a few “shh”s from the people around her. 

She was reminded for the thousandth time that semester not to ever take an intro class again. 

Turning her phone back around, she took a deep breath. Her head was throbbing where she hit it, and her phone had already locked, so when she pressed the Home button, she saw that she had a text from Chloe. 

She glanced up at the professor again, biting her lip. Her thumb hovered over the swipe option. 

Then, with a smack of her lips, she looked down. 

_*this is a sext*_

And felt every ounce of air blow out of her at once. 

_*so is this*_

_*don’t let your mother read this, because it’s very sexy*_

_*sexy sext*_

_*ooooh, so saucy*_

Her cheeks reddened again, only this time with the cool, clamminess of an acute form of humiliation. She could see her now, sitting up against the headboard and not having changed out of her pajamas, snickering as she built Beca up. 

And then, undoubtedly, taking screenshots of the ridiculous responses she’d set up. Of course. 

Was it really her fault for thinking Chloe was the type of person to send those texts in the first place? She was positive that had the situation been different, Chloe would’ve dove headfirst into the prospect of sexting. She was certain, actually, that she’d done it before. She was _Chloe Beale_. Expert in making all things sexual  _significantly_ less uncomfortable, somehow. 

(But Beca didn’t think so much about the strong levels of disappointment she was experiencing. Not only was the deflation of her building excitement embarrassing, it made her kind of angry. Or sad. Or a combination of both that could only be labeled as frustration. Something that she would  _never_ admit to.) 

_Really, chlo?_

_Saucy?_

The freshman next to her coughed pointedly, and she looked up just to stare at him with all the feeling she could muster. It was a good way of letting that shit out, at least. 

;) 

_You didnt think i was actually going to say those things, did you becs?_

Beca propped her head up with her hand, biting her lip. Embarrassment. Yeah, that didn’t even begin to describe it. 

_you and i both know i’m not a wordsmith, babe_

She read the words without fully comprehending them, until the next text came through. 

_i do much better with pics anyway_

And, okay, so maybe Beca was about to fall for it all over again. Could you blame her? 


	231. The Fluffy Love Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's currently 4am and i have to wake up in two hours to go to the doctor. I'm so nervous, i can't sleep. I've had enough of hospitals and doctors cause i need both a lot and very often. Do you have any cute (preferably a love confession or something of the sort) prompts waiting that you could write and help me make these two hours bearable? If you're not asleep or busy that is. I have no idea where you live or what time it is there. Xx — sent by anonymous

Chloe wasn’t a girl that got nervous. 

She understood excitement, anticipation, and suspense. She could describe with a hazy smile and a faraway look in her eye the feeling of standing behind stage before a show, because that wasn’t nervousness, that was feeling  _alive_. It was all she knew. 

So, positioned on the stoop with her graduation gown folded up next to her, she wasn’t really sure how to identify what she was feeling. When she looked back, retelling the story while giggling and looking over to Beca, she realized that it was probably how people felt when they said they were nervous. Like her veins were carbonated, and her stomach was a balloon that couldn’t be blown up, and there was a taste of iron in her mouth that she couldn’t swallow. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Beca asked, moving to sit down next to Chloe on the stoop. Chloe tried to scoot over for her, but her anxiety caused her to misjudge the space, and she ended up an awkward distance away from her friend. There was a moment of uncomfortable laughter when she scooted closer to Beca again, taking a deep breath to steady herself. 

Chloe, I feel the need to repeat, wasn’t a girl that got nervous. But she could  _feel_ her heartbeat in her chest. 

“Beca, you know that I love you, right?” 

Beca blinked at Chloe slowly, biting her lip. She decided to curl her hair for graduation in the same soft, everyday look that she’d been wearing throughout the entire year to her internship, and Chloe told her this morning - like she had everyday the entire year - that she liked it when Beca curled her hair. But her eyelashes were somehow triple their normal length, and it enabled her eyes to somehow sparkle louder than usual. Chloe thought she could  _literally_ see stars in her eyes. 

“Dude, yeah,” Beca said, breathing out quickly. “You tryna make me cry before we even graduate? Because Stace did my eyelashes and she will  _not_ be happy if I ruin all this.” 

Chloe chuckled, her laughter holding a slight tremor that she hoped the other girl didn’t notice. She realized that now was one of Those Moments. One of those instances that everything else hinged on. Because there are things that happen naturally, like her “accidental” failing of Russian lit or the friendship that’s spurred between her and these other girls. Even, really, the process of her learning to love music at all. But then there are things that rely on one moment. Things that don’t happen until you twist the top and send the universe spinning. This was one of Those Moments. 

She didn’t want to see it like that, because it didn’t really help to aid the anxiety that was rising like ice up her chest, but she could shake the thought that this would shift everything. The perfect grey of her world had the chance to be snuffed out or colored in, and Chloe, while perfectly confident that she was more than ready for this, couldn’t help but feel that this would be so much easier if she could skip over this. 

Only, she knew in her right mind that she couldn’t. She knew at the core of it that this wasn’t an option. 

“No, I’m not trying to….” Chloe laughed quietly, shaking her head. There was something in her throat she couldn’t shake. “I don’t want to make you cry. I just want to…” 

“Hey,” Beca said, her hand reaching out to press into her shoulder. “What’s going on?” 

“Okay,” Chloe said, breathing loudly. She looked up at the roof of the front porch, shaking her head. “I’m just going to say it. I’m just going to say it, and then it’ll be said, and then…yeah. I’m just going to say it.” 

“Okayyyy,” Beca said, “Then just say it, you freak.” 

She bumped her shoulder into Chloe, and the redhead laughed lightly, rubbing her hands over her eyes. “Beca, I….” she started, but her words were caught in her throat. “Don’t be mad.” 

“I can’t tell you I’m not going to be mad if I don’t know what it is,” Beca said. 

“Right,” Chloe said, “No, I know. But….okay, I’m just going to say it.” 

“Chloe!” Beca said, and Chloe’s nervous head-shaking was snapped to attention. “Please!” 

“Okay, okay,” Chloe’s tone was placating. “So, this is weird. To say. To you. And stuff. But I’m thinking that this is the last chance I might have to say it, and I don’t like….regrets. So…this is weird. Don’t laugh.” 

“Chl—”

“Sorry, I’m going to say it! Now! I promise!” there was a giggle to her words, because Beca was nervous too but she was willing enough to play along, and because somehow despite this all - despite the nervousness of one of Those Moments - it felt just like any other day with Beca. Just like any other conversation. “Beca, I’m in like with you.” 

“You’re in like with me?” 

“Well, actually, I think it’s more like another four letter word that starts with L,” Chloe said, laughing and waving her hand. Her hands were shaking harder now, just all out trembling, but with that kind of lightness that came with adrenaline rushes and the feeling of having finished a work out she’d been dreading all day. In fact, her entire body was shaking. Which was embarrassing and unprecedented but didn’t feel bad. Yet. “But I know you don’t like that word. Or, like, you’re scared of that word. More specifically.” 

“Chloe,” Beca said. Her tone was illegible, frustratingly so. It could’ve been patronizing, like a mom telling her kid to give up on a hopeless fantasy. Or it could’ve been….relieved. A sigh, like she was happy Chloe said something so she didn’t have to. 

It could’ve been a million and one things, and each one scared the crap out of Chloe. 

“It’s fine,” Chloe said, moving to stand. “You’re fine. I just wanted to say it. It doesn’t have to be a thing, or anything. It’s not….you’re fine.” 

“Chloe,” Beca said again, watching as Chloe stood up and straightened out her dress. Her eyebrows were furrowed. 

And Chloe wanted to beg that Beca tell her what the hell these things meant. 

“Really,” she said, and Beca stood up too, hands on Chloe’s elbows as Chloe’s head fell. She dabbed her thumb at the corner of her eyes, sniffling slightly. “This isn’t….there’s a lot of emotions today and that’s all this is.” 

“Hey,” Beca said, taking a step closer to Chloe, hands still on her elbows. “Hey, Chlo.” 

She was close enough that her forehead was touching Chloe’s, and it was then that Chloe realized whatever crushing feeling was overcoming her seconds ago - so that she couldn’t hear anything but a high-pitched beep like she’d been near a bomb when it blew up - might not be necessary. Or warranted. Or whatever. 

She was a mess, basically. She was a mess of overwhelming things that she didn’t even know how to describe. 

“Sometimes that four letter word isn’t as terrifying as usual,” Beca said. Her voice was hushed. It wasn’t legible anymore, because the intent was clear. Warm and wide and aimed right at Chloe’s lips,where Beca was staring. “Because there’s no other word to describe it, you know?” 

“Yeah,” Chloe said, smiling. She went to nod, but it ruined the contact between their foreheads, and if it weren’t for Beca dodging her quickly, they would’ve hit heads. “Yeah I do.” 

“So you can say it,” Beca prompted, hands moving to Chloe’s shoulders. “You can say it if you want.” 

“Will you say it back, though?” Chloe asked, because she wasn’t used to being nervous, and she didn’t know what it meant to be uncertain either, but both were there, still, despite it all. 

“Try me,” Beca answered with a grin. 

And Chloe knew. She knew. 

So she was suddenly nervous for an entirely different reason. 

 


	232. The One With Resurrected Chloe and Cereal Box Incantation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I’ve been dead for thousands of years but you accidentally brought me back to life through an incantation you found on the back of a cereal box and how the hell??? What the fuck??? — sent by snowpocalipse

Breakfast was a very important time for Beca Mitchell. Pre-coffee, she was not only emotionally vulnerable (she cried  _one time_ about the ten minute makeover segment on the _Today_ show…. _one time_ ), but also delusional, grumpy, and completely in need of solitude. 

So the fact that there was a woman across from the kitchen counter, groaning about a crick in her neck and the fact that she smelled like topsoil ( “Who smells like  _dirt_  for Chrissakes?” This is  _not_ a fragrance she remembers purchasing) was both not surprising - hallucinations weren’t entirely out of the question for Beca this early in the morning - and extremely disorienting. Mostly because she wanted to eat her cereal in peace, thank you very much, and the only reading she got done most days was the shit on the back of the cereal box. 

It was her favorite time of the day, coffee or not. 

And it was being ruined by a girl who did actually smell quite a lot like dirt. And rotten milk, but not enough to make Beca any more uncomfortable than the current state of her refrigerator did. 

“Okay, dude, slow down,” Beca said as soon as there was a moment’s pause in the woman’s speech, “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

“What?” the woman said. Once her monologue had been interrupted, the fear started to spread into her eyes. She became aware of her surroundings enough to glance worriedly at the television, pointing, and then meeting Beca’s confused look and jumping altogether. “Where am I?” 

“Exactly,” Beca said unhelpfully, “Where the hell are you?” 

“I….And then you….And now….Oh dear,” the woman finished, biting the knuckle of her index finger and starting to pace back and forth. The dress she was wearing was in tatters, though it was clear from the embroidery that it was once a sight to behold. Emerald green and gold stitches, it managed to somehow enhance the impossible paleness of the woman while also amplifying her stare. 

“If you don’t mind, I’m trying to eat here, so if you could just, like, leave,” Beca grumbled, wiping away some more of the sleep from her eyes. The woman stared at her, horrified. 

“How are you not concerned about my presence?” 

Beca shrugged. “I was in an all-girls collegiate acapella group,” she said nonchalantly, “I’ve seen weirder shit.” 

“Surely not something like this,” the woman said. “I was…I mean, I am, I suppose…But now maybe I’m not…”

“Can you have your identity crisis somewhere else?” Beca asked, her mouth full of cereal. “They’re about to get to the cooking segment.” 

The woman turned suddenly to look in the direction of Beca’s zombie gaze, squealing when the figures on the television moved. “How are they doing that?” 

“Uh, that’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Beca grumbled. “But you’re a better door than a window.” 

“I’m a what?” 

“Move?” Beca asked, gesturing with her hand. The woman just remained where she was standing, earning an eyeroll from Beca. “What the hell do you want?” 

“Well, to begin, I want you to be more concerned that you have a dead person in your house.” 

“A….okay, what the fuck are you on about?” 

“Don’t be a dolt,” the woman said, taking Beca’s eye roll and returning it with just as much salt. “I’m talking about  _me_. Death by nodes. It was a throat condition. Not terrible glamorous, or fatal for that matter, but one’s love for music can sometimes be tragic.” 

“You’re insane,” Beca said. She lifted her bowl up to her mouth, slurping the milk while the woman looked on with disgust. 

“I am  _dead_ ,” the woman said, staring at Beca directly in the eyes until the brunette’s face fell. It was enough, it seemed, to satisfy the woman, and she stood up straighter, humming. “Not by poison, though that would be neat. Or by dagger. But heartbreak can kill a woman, and death of the song can break any heart.” 

“You’re….” Beca started, her bowl clanging on the table when she threw it down. “You’re….” 

“Dead,” the woman finished easily. “And also Chloe. Well, Lady Chloe. But that’s not important.” 

“How…” Beca was choking on her words now, and Chloe rushed to her side of the counter, slapping her back quickly to try to evoke some kind of helpful response. With a few coughs, Beca continued. “How is this happening?” 

“Oh, that silly cereal box,” Chloe waved away the box dismissively, almost enjoying the gaping that Beca was indulging in.  _This_ was the response she was looking for. “Only a few were sold - and in strange consignment shops no less…which reminds me, why were you buying cereal from consignment shops?” 

“It’s cheaper,” Beca said with shrug. “I need to save up.” 

“That’s hardly important,” Chloe responded. “The point is, that spell you read brought me here. I think. It’s all a bit hazy. But considering I’m here, and the last thing I remember is the sound of  _your_ voice reading  _those_ words, I’m assuming the two subjects are connected.” 

“That’s….that’s….”

“Do you have a manner of speaking that isn’t repetitive or sarcastic?” Chloe asked, her hands landing on Beca’s shoulders and making her jump. The action made Chloe pull her hands off of the other woman and walk over to the other side of the room. 

“This is impossible,” Beca finally whispered. She noticed that when Chloe heard this, there was an almost supernatural gleam in her eye. 

“Hardly impossible,” Chloe said, grinning as she leaned over the counter. The color was returning to her cheeks now, and Beca could see it. Could see the “lady” that was “Lady Chloe”, with hair that was flawless even after hundreds of years of rest (which was much more than what she could say for herself at the present moment) and eyes that men would go to war for. 

It was, really, breathtaking. 

If it wasn’t already such a ridiculous, strange, fantastical situation to begin with. 

“Just improbable,” Chloe finished, flashing a wink to Beca and standing up straighter, leaving the other girl blinking owlishly and looking for the camera that told her it was all a prank in the first place. 


	233. The One with the Grocery Store

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You said something out of context in a grocery store so I tried to squint but I fucking winked???? I don’t have control of my body??? Sorry I-HOLY SHIT, did you just wink back???? — sent by snowpocalipse

Beca wasn’t  _following_ her, necessarily. 

She just…happened to need something in every aisle that the other woman went down. These kinds of coincidences happened in grocery stores all the time. 

Besides, given the fact that this woman was speaking  _very_ loudly into her phone during the entire shopping trip, Beca wouldn’t call what she was doing “eavesdropping” so much as she would call it “keeping her ears open in order to remain alert and, therefore, hearing occasional tidbits of conversation between this beautiful redhead and her iPhone”. 

Totally and completely innocent. 

Except, as was previously noted, the woman in question was strikingly beautiful, and Beca wasn’t really someone who liked to peruse the organic aisle a lot of the time, so her presence among rows and rows of granola wasn’t entirely based in innocuous intent. To add insult to injury, the woman seemed to be talking about her previous night - basic things like what she did and who she did those things with - and Beca was pretty sure that these things were meant to be personal details. Particularly, the bit about her “overwhelming loneliness”, which, although said with equal parts sarcasm and melodrama, seemed a little too private to be overheard by a stranger in the grocery store. 

Apparently, and Beca felt like an absolute stalker for knowing this, someone named Aubrey (who occasionally went by Bree, judging by the interjections in their conversation) was hell-bent on setting this woman up with various people on her contact list. Her mission, it seemed, failed last night, if the woman’s commentary about the “dry steal and even drier conversation” was anything to go on. 

The woman hadn’t noticed Beca’s presence, thank God, because any time she spun around, it was accompanied by a snap that indicated she forgot something essential to her truly ridiculous cart of sugary cereal  _and_ kale chips. That didn’t stop Beca from nervously fiddling with whatever was in front of her every time the woman turned, which was exactly what was occurring at this particular moment. A small flinch towards Beca and the brunette spun around quickly, reaching out towards whatever was on the nearest shelf which was….

…A boxed of ribbed condoms. 

_Great._

“No, Bree, that’s not the point,” she heard the woman say, her voice closer than it was seconds earlier. “Well, the point is that I’m not in the market for that particular….brand right now – No. – No. – Yeah, no, I’m not saying I’ve suddenly changed the label, I’m just saying that sometimes you’re in the mood for bananas and sometimes you’re in the mood for cantaloupe, you know?” 

Beca wished that she wasn’t frozen by the sound of this woman’s voice impossibly close to her neck, but she couldn’t deny the current reality of this situation. Because she’d been shamelessly following the woman around the store without really actively thinking about it, and now she was holding a box of condoms and frozen cold in fear that she was about to be discovered. 

Things could always be worse, th–

“Right. Currently sick of the dick.” 

Beca’s neck snapped at the comment, and if she was capable of thinking back on the moment later with any clarity, she would’ve wondered why the hell she chose that moment to look directly at the woman she’d been following for the past five minutes. That’s if she was even physically able to relive the scene, considering she was also trying to mask the sudden glance as a squint towards whatever was behind the woman. 

A squint that admittedly felt more like a wink. 

Because it was a wink. 

It  _definitely_ was a wink. 

Which…. _double great._  Super fucking fantastic, actually. 

“Heh,” Beca said weakly when the woman made eye contact with her. She looked down quickly at her hand, actually  _throwing_ the box of condoms on the floor and jumping away from it. “That was…this is…um…” 

The woman smiled, holding her hand up to cover her mouth, and Beca tried her best to throw what could only be interpreted as a grimace back at her. “Bree, I have to go. That hot chick I was telling you about finally made eye contact with me. Actually, she winked.  _Actually,_ she winked and threw a box of condoms at me.” 

“It wasn’t  _at_ you, it was, like,  _towards_ you…” Beca said quietly, earning a chuckle from the other woman. She heard the distant voice of the person on the other end of the phone, and the redhead smiled wider. 

“My best friend says that I shouldn’t pay attention to you because you clearly don’t know how lesbian pick-up lines work.” 

“Um, but you’re not a lesbian, according to your conversation with her. I mean…I wasn’t….that’s not….like I wasn’t listening or anything. I just overheard that…and then….um…You know, I’m not trying to label you. This isn’t…” 

“She’s cute, Bree,” the woman said into her phone while she looked directly at Beca. It was unnerving, the way the grin was accompanied by such an unabashed stare. “Yeah, she’s all nervous and stuff. And apparently she understands my sexuality better than you do already…” Then, holding her hand up to her phone’s mic, she addressed Beca. “She says ‘Have fun’.” 

“Thanks,” Beca answered harshly, and the woman hummed to herself, bouncing slightly as she offered a hasty goodbye to the person she’d been talking on the phone with. While she did that, Beca bent down to pick up the box, realizing only when she reached out her hand that she was shaking. 

Really, the smallest of her current concerns about social awkwardness. 

“So,” the woman said, and Beca’s head snapped again, this time because she realized that the woman had squatted down to her level too, so that her breath was tickling her neck. “If you’ve been watching me, does that mean I have a free pass to watch you?” 

Beca felt her blush rising before she had the chance to combat it, and by the time her face was hot, she realized that at this point there wasn’t any use in trying to salvage whatever normalcy she tried to give off. “Would you…like, even want to?” 

“You just overheard a phone call wherein my best friend is trying to set me up with any single person she knows ‘regardless of whether they have a stereotypical haircut or not’ - her words, not mine. You really think I  _wouldn’t_ want to watch a beautiful girl shop for…” she looked over at Beca’s cart, which was currently just carrying a box of Lunchables. “Her child’s lunch?” 

Beca clutched the box of condoms on instinct, her stomach doing gymnastics as the redhead grinned wider at her. “More like  _my_ lunch, actually.” 

“Lunchables and condoms,” the woman said, “You lead an interesting life….uh, I didn’t catch your name.” 

“Beca, and…the condoms aren’t…I’m not…I don’t need them.” 

“Well, that’s one less thing I have to worry about,” the woman commented. She started to stand, her knees popping and when she held out her hand, Beca shook her head. 

“My hands are…like, sweaty,” Beca mumbled, wincing again at her terrible ineptitude. “You don’t want to hold them.” 

The woman laughed. “Okay, so, you just made it easier for me to be  _less_ blunt about the other thing I would have to worry about…” she paused, biting her lip. “Um. Beca,” she sang, wiggling her shoulders slightly. “Might there be a reason your hands are sweaty?”

“Other than the painful awkwardness of this conversation?” Beca said, standing up and finally placing the condoms on the shelf. “The fact that it’s a painfully awkward conversation  _with_ a beautiful girl.” 

“Aha,” the woman said, pointing at Beca. “That’s what I was looking for.” 

“Excuse me?” Beca asked. Her current anxiety levels had already gone through the roof, but the very fact that this woman was sticking around indicated that, to some extent, she was as insane as Beca was appearing to be. 

“Now, don’t pretend like you weren’t listening,” the woman chided, putting her hand on her cart. “’Sick of dick?’” 

“Right,” Beca said uncomfortably. “Right. Right. Um.” She shook her head, unable to fully comprehend the conversation at hand. “You’re…very….frank.” 

“No,” the woman giggled, “I’m Chloe, actually.” 

Beca stared at the woman for a second before she broke out laughing, accompanied by the redhead’s self-deprecating grin. 

“We’re not good at this,” Beca finally said, taking a deep breath after her laughter to steady herself. If she stood slightly taller, she thought, maybe the embarrassments of the past five minutes could be diminished? 

“No, we’re not. And yet…” Chloe tapped her finger against the cart, “We now both know each other’s names. All that’s left is an exchange of phone numbers, and we’ll be set.” 

Beca laughed, pulling her phone out of her back pocket. Her hands were still shaking, but she felt like she felt after the obligatory rounds of cardio Jesse made her do at the gym - there was the after-effects of adrenaline pumping through her and making the entire process blindingly easy. “Now, I’ve got to admit, that one was smooth.” 

“Oh yeah,” Chloe nodded, pursing her lips a little, “There’s more where that came from.” 


	234. The One With Embarrassing Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you do a bechloe fanfic where the Bellas admit embarrassing truths for whatever reason and it gets down to one of them confessing BUT you have to have Beca say a truth about how she swirls her hairs in the shower. When Anna said that in an interview and got embarrassed i just thought that was so cute — sent by anonymous

“Okay, this is a good idea,” Beca said, pulling up a chair and making sure it was a safe distance from the puddle of vomit in the middle of the rehearsal space. “That was a pretty bad example, but this is a good idea. Why don’t we,” she paused long enough for Denise to put a towel down on another chair for Lilly, who seemed completely unperturbed by the remnants of Aubrey’s morning cereal on her back. “Why don’t we go around the room and we can all say something about ourselves that nobody else knows.” 

She was trying. 

This, she told herself as she swallowed the thick lump of anxiety that had bubbled up when she started suggesting this bonding plan, was all that was important. 

She _voluntarily_ and _willingly_ offered to confess her secrets. 

See? Trying. 

Of course, her trying only led to Cynthia Rose making a confession that was overlooked by Amy’s attempt at reconfiguring the “lesbian ratio” she’d worked on on hood night, muttering something about how she was “sure it was the Ginge and Alt girl…” and Lilly whispering something that no one really heard (although Beca was pretty sure everything she whispered was a confession of some sort). 

Then there was Fat Amy - err, Fat Patricia’s admission…which…okay, she kinda relinquished any expectation of what was going to be said the minute Amy started talking so, surprise wasn’t exactly the right word for her reaction. 

Maybe, admittedly, the trying would work out better if she actually participated. 

Only, she thought she kind of knew what the girls expected her to say. In fact, she saw the anticipation in their eyes when she decided to bite the bullet and offer up her confession. 

And she had every intention of living up to their expectations, because Chloe was looking at her with _those_ eyes and her hair was pulled back enough for Beca to see the natural blush on her cheeks, and…yeah, it was bad. Bad and obvious and now was _the time_ to talk about this little crush she’d been fostering. Hell, if Cynthia Rose and Denise could admit their love then what was another Bella protecting herself from the dangers of Treble-boning? 

When she spoke up, a squeaky, unsure, “Okay,” followed by a deep breath, she had every single intention of telling the group about her feelings. “You know when girls…like…” 

She just made one little mistake. She looked at Chloe. And the world, as it usually did when she looked at the redhead, came tumbling down. Which was what led to the confession, said in a rushed and embarrassed tone, about her…leftover hair in the shower? 

Okay. She didn’t think very fast on her feet. 

“Like when you’re shampooing your hair?” She started out strong. At least there was that. “And, like, you know. Some of your hair comes out….And…” she held her hand up to her mouth, unsure of what was happening at this point, just that the only person in the room actually _waiting_ for her confession - listening, intently, like she was admitting to a murder - was Chloe. The rest were rolling their eyes or looking at her in confused shock. 

“You collect it?” Chloe asked, trying to help Beca with the blush that was forming on her cheeks. 

“No, I like….” Beca stopped, hands falling to her thighs so she could catch her breath. “No! I don’t collect. I like, throw it away after the shower’s done but…um….” Chloe nodded, still paying attention. 

This was where “trying” got her. _This_ was why she rarely attempted much of anything. Could anyone, at this point, blame her?

“I…” her voice was a mere squeak now, and she gestured helplessly at her hair. “Like…stick it to the wall. And…swirled it up into a little ball…” her hands mimicked the movements as best as they could, though the didn’t stop the giggle that was bursting out of Beca’s mouth - only enhancing the overall embarrassment, unfortunately enough. 

At this point, Chloe had put her head in her hands, confused and concerned and shocked at where Beca went with this little bonding moment. The break in eye contact only made Beca more defensive, her voice getting scratchy as she fought to explain herself to the best of her ability. “So it’s all nice. And neat. For disposal…after the shower…”

The end barely made it’s way out, breaking into an embarrassed laugh that made her jump slightly, because there was adrenaline beneath it all - the humiliation, coupled with the anxiety that was building up back before this whole mess with the shower started when she thought a very different confession was going to come out of her mouth. She was shaking, bubbling, really, and when she looked over at Chloe, the redhead had seemed to have a similar feeling bouncing through her. 

Pursing her lips, Chloe nodded slowly, the words not needing to be said. 

Amy had pulled back a wince, and Stacie was looking to Cynthia Rose with furrowed eyebrows. Quickly, Beca breathed out, though it was clear that her muscles were so clenched that her shoulders were up by her ears. 

“I’m just trying to keep it neat!” she said, covering her face. 

“No, that’s….” Chloe started to try to console her, but it was carrying a tone of disbelief and….amusement? Mockery? 

Either way, it injected Beca with another sense of defensiveness. “What do _you_ do when you’re in the shower?” 

“I don’t…” Chloe stopped, her grin spreading over her face. “I don’t do _that_. I’m sure…I do other things?” 

Beca grimaced, pulling her hair in front of her face to hide the red that was creeping up. The silence coming from the other Bellas - a true miracle, she thought - was disconcerting, and Beca could help but feel like every ounce of attention they had was focused on Beca and what she’d just said. 

Trying, as it was, was absolute bullshit. 

Chloe reached out over the circle, putting a hand on Beca’s knee and making her jump. “I’ll think of other things to make you feel better,” she said with a pat, and Beca, from beneath her hair, glanced over at Chloe. 

“Thank you,” she squeaked, her voice so small she would - without a doubt - deny it later. 

“I’m glad you shared that,” Aubrey said with an uncomfortable wince, clapping slightly to regain the composure of the team.

“I cannot be the only person who does that!” Beca fought, hands hitting the side of the chair. Chloe, now, stopped hiding her laughter and instead burst out, hand still on Beca’s knee. “It’s better than just _leaving_ it…”

The other girls were still looking at her, and Beca got the acute feeling of being an animal at the zoo. Chloe scooted forward in her chair, now, bridging the gap between them completely. 

“How much hair are we talking about?” she asked with a touch of concern. 

Which was sweet, really, if it weren’t so completely humiliating. 

“Like a little….like….You lose a certain amount of hair in the shower…” Beca said helplessly, “Girls know this…” 

She looked around the room, noticing that only Lilly was nodding in agreement. “You know!” she said, pointing to Lilly. “She knows!” 

And, okay, so Lilly wasn’t the best comparison for what was considered “normal”. True enough. But _still_. She needed to help her case somehow, and judging by the looks she was getting and the cold heat creeping up her neck, her case was a losing one. “So instead of having it, like, all over…when I’m shampooing, I put it in my hands and I put it on the wall and I swirl it up…” her voice got softer as she talked, ending on a smile that was absolutely _pleading_ for Chloe to just drop it. 

The redhead, though, seemed fascinated. And a little worried. 

This was not the attention that Beca was hoping to garner, though. “So that it’s a little…like…” 

Stop. Talking. 

This was something that Beca had been repeating since she started, and now, with her hands helplessly gesturing in the shape of a ball in front of her face, she finally listened. 

“So what do you do? Do you take a picture?” Chloe’s head was resting on her fist, and Beca slapped her lightly. 

“No! I throw it out!” Beca said, pulling her knees up onto the chair to curl up into a fetal position. “Whatever. I don’t vomit when I’m nervous, guys.” 

“Hey!” Aubrey shot out, a finger immediately being pointed in Beca’s face. 

“At least she’s not balding,” Amy said under her breath. Beca let her head fall back so that her neck was resting against the back of the chair, and she groaned. Eyes closed, she held up her hand. 

This was what trying did. 

And she decidedly, definitively, that she would try to _want_ to try again. Sometime in the future. Fifty years from now. 

“Some one else go,” Beca said hopelessly, her voice dead from being on defense. “Now. Please.” 


	235. The One with the Coupley Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca and chloe doing couply things like cuddling over a movie, walking to the same room to go sleeping and taking a shower together. And the other bellas "complaining" and telling them to keep it in their pants — sent by anonymous

She wasn’t really sure when it started. 

She thinks, maybe, it was like a tumor - slow and unnoticeable until it literally took up every aspect of her life. 

And, okay, maybe she should stop referring to Chloe as a mass of mutated cells bent on ruining her life….but the analogy was ever-present, because the redhead had, somehow, managed to sneak into even the dark spaces of Beca’s masses, burrowing herself there so that on the rare occasions she was gone, Beca felt cold. Twisting, almost, in the emptiness. 

Which was why, though Beca had been raised and prided herself on the joy of solitude, she began to realize that Chloe was a sort of second half of herself in a way that no one else had ever managed. 

For her birthday, as what Beca assumed to be a joke, Stacie bought her handcuffs. The intent there was obvious - make Beca blush, and job well done - but Chloe had giggled, telling Stace that those weren’t necessary at all. 

After a glare and a deer-in-headlights kind of look, she clarified that they weren’t needed simple because the two were already pretty shackled together as it was. And she wasn’t wrong, really, because when Beca shifted to reach for the peanut butter, Chloe moved slightly too. When Beca leaned back on the couch, Chloe twitched too. They occupied a certain plane completely attached, and Beca found herself, surprisingly, not bothered by this. 

It was the closest she could get to a routine, actually. Cuddled up on the couch in the mornings so that limbs weren’t fully distinguishable, heads on shoulders or chests and hair tangled up together. When, in the mid-afternoon on Saturdays, Amy knocked on the bathroom door repeatedly to make sure they didn’t use the hot water, one would come out, towel drying their hair, with a smug look on their face, and, moments later, another would follow - granted with a touch more smeared mascara leftover on her eyes, but still as flushed. 

And the sleeping, well, the sleeping had started before they even really lived in the same house, much to Kimmy Jin’s disapproval, because as much as Beca preferred to have her own bed, she had issues with insomnia that only Chloe’s cuddles could cure - _not_ that she’d _ever_ admit that. She wouldn’t. Ever. For the record. 

It was a natural process, Beca thought, and what scared her most about it all was the fact that she wasn’t scared about it. Not in the slightest. It felt good. Comfortable, even, and above all, right. 

The girls, though, didn’t really fully agree. 

“Oh my _god_ , are we going to have to get that couch washed?” Ashley whispered over the Jessica as they walked down the stairs together into the kitchen, passing by Beca and Chloe, who were supposed to be watching tv but instead were participating in a particularly intense tickle fight. 

“Shut up,” Beca huffed from where she was straddling Chloe, “It’s just a _game_.” 

“You look clean,” Stacie said when they both came downstairs with wet hair and pajamas on. “So do you, Chlo. Though, I guess, clean isn’t a really good word for what you two just did.”

“Uh, shower?” Beca said, “I’d say clean is pretty synonymous with shower.” 

“Whatever,” Stacie rolled her eyes, “If your hair was as thick as your _mind_ I could understand why you take so long up there,” she finished as she left the room, leaving Beca to look at Chloe, confused. 

All of the events - the side comments and the rolls of eyes - led up to Beca and Chloe, whispering and giggling their way into the house at two am after a night spent on the couch in the library, where they should’ve been studying but instead napped. On each other. 

The Bellas were all stationed around the couches in the living room, legs crossed to match judgmental arms. “Beca,” Stacie said, “Chloe. Sit.” 

“What’s all of this?” Chloe said, almost excited by the way it seemed the Bellas were banded together. Amy cleared her throat, gesturing with her hand. 

“The unbearableness of the lesbi-couple among us,” Amy said, pointing between the two of them and then holding her hand up to her mouth in a V formation that made Beca visibly wince. 

“We’ll keep this short,” CR said, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “Just wanted to request that, at least around us, you keep it in your pants.” 

“Yeah,” Flo said, “I lived in a brothel for two and a half years, and you two are worse.” 

“What?” Beca shot, standing up. 

“You and Chloe,” Jessica said, confused by the outburst. 

“Look, we’re not asking for much,” Ashley continued, “Just that you two keep everything…you know. PG.” 

“Okay, I’m out,” Beca said, turning to head up the stairs, but Chloe grabbed her wrist. 

“Becs, wait,” Chloe said, “Let’s hear them out.” 

“Chloe! We’re not…this isn’t….” Beca frustrated blinded her to the way Chloe was biting her lip to keep back the laughter, though both their cheeks were redder than Chloe’s hair. 

“Yeesh, Beca, it’s just one simple request,” Stacie said, holding her hands up. “Like, I get the desire, but I didn’t think you’d be the one to protest keep your hands to yourself.” 

“I _do_ ,” Beca argued, though Chloe’s hand was still on her wrist. “This is ridiculous and I’m leaving.” 

CR stood quickly enough to block Beca’s exit, though, arms crossed. “Move, Cyn.”

“Sorry, but no can do, buckaroo.” 

“Oh my _God_ , I’m living with insane idiots,” Beca grumbled, hand up on her forehead. 

“We need you guys to formally agree,” Ashley said. 

“And to pay the bill for dry cleaning the couch,” Jessica finished. 

“We’re not…That’s not….” Beca groaned, sitting back down beside Chloe, whose hand found it’s way quickly to Beca’s back to run circles there to calm her down. “Tell them.” 

“This is more fun, though,” Chloe said, coughing when she saw Beca’s glare. “Fine. Beca and I aren’t having sex.” 

Stacie snorted, somehow in harmony with Cynthia Rose, while Jessica and Ashley released a gasp in perfect synchronization. “That’s not possible,” Flo said, eying them suspiciously. 

“You two _shower_ together,” Cynthia Rose said, a finger pointed at Beca. 

“Friends shower together!” Beca argued. “To…preserve water.” 

“I’m calling such bullshit on this,” Stacie said. “There’s _no way_.” 

Beca looked at Chloe, who was holding in her laughter. They were sitting so that their legs were touching, but there was a very clear discomfort there, and it was spreading quickly over their faces. “Oh my god,” Stacie let out when she saw the glances they exchanged. “They aren’t lying.” 

“What the fuck?” Cynthia Rose said, stepping back to look over the two of them. “That’s some serious bullcrap.” 

“Fine,” Stacie clapped, standing up. “Change of Bella meeting agenda. You two,” she said, pointing between the two of them. “Need to bed before you wed.” 

“You _just_ told us to keep it in our pants,” Chloe said, but Stacie waved away her comment. 

“That’s before I realized that your lesbian bed death happened even _before_ the sexy stuff did. So chop chop. Get to it.” 

She waved at the other girls, grabbing her purse, which was near the door. 

“It’s two am, Stace,” Beca said, but Stacie stuck her tongue out. 

“I have extra beds to sleep in for a reason,” she said, “Girls?” 

One by one, the other Bellas stood up before Beca and Chloe had a chance to stop them. 

Or, rather, Beca was too confused and surprised and Chloe was too utterly amused for either one of them to say anything while the Bellas filed out towards the front door. 

“You’re still paying for dry cleaning on the couch, then,” Ashley said, pointing towards the two of them very suspiciously. 

“And save _some_ of the hot water, pervs,” Amy shouted from outside the window, “If we thought their showers were long before….”


	236. I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I work overnights in the warehouse of a retail store meaning A) I'm alone 90% of my shift, B) the corporate Pandora station plays 24/7, and both come together to make C) I sing all the fudging time. So I have a couple of song prompts! Parent Bechloe setting up for Christmas morning, and Beca has been coerced into dressing as Santa. Cue a small child seeing Mommy kissing Santa Claus underneath the mistletoe last night… (This actually made me laugh out loud when I thought of it.) — sent by anonymous

End of story, turns out, were the three words that seemed to start almost _all_ the stories of the Beale-Mitchell wife-and-wife duo. 

“Why in the _hell_ would I wear this?” 

Beca held the santa jacket between her two pincher fingers at an arm’s length away from the rest of her body while Chloe giggled up at her, shrugging. 

“Because it’s cute,” Chloe said. She was sitting back on the bed, but as Beca was talking, she sat up on her knees, leaning forward to rest her weight on her front two hands. “And because I like it. And because it’s Christmas.” 

“What, does this fulfill some strange fantasy for you? Because newsflash, Chlo, no one likes Christmas _that_ much.” 

“Oh _hush_ ,” Chloe said, sitting up straighter now. “Do it for her.” 

“There’s no freakin’ way that she’s going to believe Santa is 5′2″, Chlo!” 

“The logistics _don’t matter_ ,” Chloe argued. “You’re wearing it. End of story.” 

And this story begins with Beca, buttoned up in a red jacket that was long enough that she didn’t need to wear anything but leggings underneath, and hot enough that the whole “cherry nose” concept was starting to make a little bit of sense. 

But if Chloe Beale took a picture of this scene, she’d be dead. At least, that’s what the jolly ol’ glare Beca was shooting her at the moment she stood behind the bedroom door was indicating. 

Cynthia Rose and her wife had a little girl about three years before Chloe and Beca settled down enough to rent a house between the two of them, which meant that by the time their daughter was three and a half, Cynth’s little girl was ten. 

The ripe old age of ruining Christmas for all with the newfound knowledge that Santa was not, in fact, real. 

And the result of this wasn’t Chloe and Beca’s daughter crying in her bed a week before Christmas but instead Chloe, perched at the edge of their king-sized, head in her hands, wailing about how the rest of their daughter’s childhood was permanently ruined by this terrible mess. 

It didn’t help that since her very first Christmas, the Beale-Mitchells had developed a holiday tradition of falling asleep in the living room - at first at that rocking chair and then moving onto the couch - on Christmas Eve to “wait” for the big man to come to town. Because their daughter, in all her Beca-like stubbornness, was determined to stay awake to prove to a very committed redheaded mother that all the lies she’d been telling were about to unravel. 

Sure, as Beca pointed out, Santa wasn’t 5′2″, nor did he have a non-existent waistline or leftover eyeliner wrapped around his eyes. Beca didn’t even try to hide the Christmas plaid that was peeking out from under the jacket, either, but she assumed the festive socks - pulled up to her mid-calf - were enough to combat the leggings she’d put on. 

Because the thing was, if Beca was going to be Santa Claus, she was going to do it in a way that wasn’t completely and totally decimating to her reputation. Naturally. 

Peeking out over the couch when Beca opened the door were two bright red pigtails, set in red and green bows respectively, though the pigtails seemed to have deflated quite a bit over the course of the day, and she saw the way her little head was bobbing - like she was trying her best to stay awake even though everything in her body was disagreeing with that decision. 

Chloe had slipped over to sit on the couch with her, the little girl moving to sit in her lap, curling up to her chest and letting out a small sigh. 

Looking back over her shoulder, Chloe spotted Beca tiptoeing out of the room, and Beca thought that despite all the embarrassment, the grin that spread over Chloe’s face in that moment could convince her again and again to do something this ridiculous. She smiled in a way that put wrinkles on the side of her eyes, which were twinkling, and Beca was reminded of that first Christmas they’d spent as a family, when she snuck the baby out in the living room and sat in the rocking chair, singing softly and falling asleep within minutes. 

It was peaceful. Quiet. The home they’d created had always managed to have that feeling in the place of all the other “homes” Beca lived through that could only maintain cold friendliness. 

She snuck up behind Chloe, tiptoeing out to the front of the couch and turning around with a flourish only to find the little girl curled into a tighter ball than before, finally and eventually using her mother’s chest to surrender the battle she was fighting against sleep. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Beca whispered when she saw the sleeping girl. “After all this, she’s asleep?” 

“Sorry,” Chloe whispered back. “I didn’t…I thought she was….” 

“Whatever,” Beca grumbled. She plopped onto the other side of the couch knee first, letting the cushion bounce slightly under her weight. 

“You look cute,” Chloe said, and Beca laughed lightly, shaking her head. 

“You like this look? Straight from North Pole, I hear.” 

“Ohhh,” Chloe hummed, giggles bubbling on the edge of her tone, “Very ‘now’.” 

Beca nodded before covering her face and shaking her head. “I feel ridiculous.” 

“You _are_ adorable.” 

Chloe sat up slowly, eyes focused on the little girl sitting up at her chest, letting the shift of gravity take place before she grabbed her by the waist and lifted her slightly. Already out like a light, the little girl in the green and red striped pajamas moved slightly without Chloe’s form before sighing and settling into a deeper sleep, effectively freeing her mother from any couch-like responsibilities she had been maintaining. 

She sat in the middle cushion, between Beca and her daughter, and reached over her wife to get to the plate of cookies near the fireplace. “Gotta make it look authentic this time,” she said, taking a cookie in her hand. She was stationed so that she leaning over Beca, her tank top - which was lined in drawn-on Christmas lights - stretching as her muscles did. She saw Beca swallow and grinned. It should be noted that this grin was entirely different from the grin that was written over her face when Beca walked out in the Santa jacket. 

This one said, “I still can get you blushing even after all these years”. This one said, “If you think you’re warm now, just you wait.” 

Popping the cookie in her mouth in one bite, she lingering over Beca, seeing her eyes wander, before dropping back on the cushion. 

“You’re bad,” Beca said, biting the inside of her cheek.

“Naughty?”

“I _knew_ you had a weird kink!” Beca said quietly, slapping Chloe lightly on the shoulder. The redhead grabbed Beca’s hand on the rebound, intertwining her fingers in the other girls and pressing it against the back cushion to make them face each other. 

“To be fair, you look _nothing_ like Santa,” Chloe said, “Because, for the record, that’s _not_  a thing I’m into.” 

“You sure?” Beca said with an eyebrow raised. 

“I’ve had enough old men hit on me in my life to know I don’t have a grandpa kink, Becs,” Chloe said, “Mrs. Claus, though….I mean, if she looked anything like you….”

“I know you’re trying to be sexy,” Beca hummed, eyes focused on Chloe’s lips, “But you’re getting weird, so please just shut up and kiss me.” 

“I,” Chloe started, putting a hand on Beca’s neck and nestling the other one in the white fur collar that Beca was sporting, “Can do that.” 

She moved in, leaning over Beca who was sufficiently pressed against the couch cushion at this point so that she had to sit up on her knees to get a good angle. As she tilted her head, lips making contact, the hand nestled in the white fur moved so that fingers were lining the edges, up and down slowly, and Beca hummed, catching Chloe’s lips and surging forward slightly to deepen the kiss. 

“Momma?” 

Beca squeaked when she heard her daughter, breaking away so quickly Chloe ended up pulling at her lip with her teeth and bringing out blood. With a hand pressed up against her mouth, Beca fought the instinct to face her daughter, turning her head instead to look at the fireplace and shield herself. 

She might’ve been surprised by her daughter waking up, but she was _not_ going to let her cover fall. 

Chloe, though, looked straight at her daughter, hopping off of Beca quickly and smiling as sweetly as she could manage. 

“Momma, is that Santa?” 

Chloe scooted forward, her daughters limbs so small and bendable that when she picked up the little girl she was all in one ball. “Shhhhh, you should….just…go back to sleep, sweetie.” 

“Momma,” the little girl said, her voice a little more stern, “Why were you kissin’ Santa?” 

“Honey,” Chloe started. She shot a glance back at Beca, who stood up quickly and was facing the tree, fiddling with the presents that were already set up beneath it. “That wasn’t….Um. I wasn’t….”

Beca had put her hat on as soon as she stood up, and though she was lacking the beard, she winced when she turned around, trying her best to puff out her chest and coughing. 

“Ho ho ho,” she tried, her voice breaking on the last ‘ho’. “This isn’t…a thing you need to worry about. So just….off you go. To sleep. I’m real. Now you know.” 

The little girl, still a little sleepy, pulling herself up off of Chloe’s chest to sit up straight and stick a finger straight in Beca’s direction. “You,” she said, her voice so high and squeaky Beca fought the urge to laugh, “Were kissin’ my momma.” 

“I had a mouth…pain. She was…inspecting it. With her mouth. It’s really not a problem, and if you ask too many questions, I’m not going to be able to deliver presents,” Beca said, wincing at the end when Chloe shot her a glare. 

“I’m sure that’s not what Santa means,” Chloe said, “Because you’ve been a good girl. And because curiosity is important. She…HE…just…he has a lot of places to be, so now that you saw him…”

“You’re too short!” the little girl shouted in an accusatory tone, Beca’s mouth falling open and her hands moving into fists. Chloe held tighter onto her daughter at that, knowing the effect of her words on Beca’s ego. 

“I am _not_!” Beca said, her voice maintaining it’s usual high-pitched guilt. “I’ll have you know I fall under the proper range for a–”

Chloe coughed quickly, shooting a glare. “Sant _aaa_ ,” Chloe said pointedly. “I’m sure this isn’t a conversation you can have right now.”

“What?” Beca shot, only realizing after she met Chloe’s eyes that she had an act to keep up and was currently failing. 

The issues with having such a smart three year old was really….overwhelming. 

“Right,” she said, her voice lowering. “Right right. The point is, you saw me. I’m here. Now…go to bed.” 

“Wait!” the little girl said, sitting up even straighter and moving to press her hand to the side of Chloe’s ear. The redhead leaned down to listen to her daughter’s whisper, a giggle breaking out at whatever she said. Finally, she nodded. “I need to get something for you!” 

Chloe stood up, about to head out of the room with the little girl balanced on her hip, lingering a moment to mouth “I’m sorry” at Beca, who was standing helplessly in front of the fireplace. After a second of toddling around in the cabinet, she came back, the little girl holding a glass of eggnog with both hands, eying it all the while to make sure she wasn’t going to spill. 

“For your mouth,” she said simply, smiling with her hands outstretched, “So it doesn’t hurt anymore.” 

Beca reached out, biting her lip all the while. Chloe looked on. Sure, she was amused. The comedy of the situation was written all over her face. But beyond that, she was _sparkling_ , and, of course, that was the result of the reflection of the twinkling lights on the tree, but because couldn’t help but feel like it was somehow sourced in this whole game she was playing. Santa and her daughter and the presents under the tree, all coupled together at the middle of the night to create the scene we’ve found them in now, with a little girl offering, very sincerely, to help Santa with the mouth issue her mother had been “dealing” with earlier. 

“You,” Beca said, leaning closer to her daughter, “Are _magic_. You know that, right?” 

“That’s what my mommy always says,” the little girl answered proudly. Chloe boosted her up on her hip, nodding familiarly. Beca took a sip of the eggnog followed by a deep breath. 

“Fantastic,” she said, wiping the nogstache off of her face, “Just what I needed.” 

“Now Momma doesn’t have to kiss you to make it better,” the little girl said, her tone changing from sweet to…almost…threatening. “Because she has Mommy, and if Mommy were here right now…you’d be toast.” 

Halfway through a sip of the eggnog, Beca paused, almost spitting out what she already had her mouth. The little girl held up a tiny fist, her face scrunching up like Chloe when she was angry. “I’m ser’ous.” 

“I know,” Beca said, biting back her laugh to hand back the most serious look. “Sorry, kiddo. I’m….I’m going to leave now. The presents are under the tree.” 

The little girl crossed her arms, nodding in approval. “You…uh…be a good girl, now?” 

She checked with Chloe to make sure the character she was maintaining was the right one. With a nod and a slow blink, Chloe reassured her. “Just gonna….” Beca started walking over to her bedroom to change, but the little girl let out a squeal. 

“Not Moms _bedroom_ ,” the little girl said with exasperation. On Chloe’s hip, she shot out a hand towards the door. Beca looked at Chloe again, seeing that instead of helpfulness, she was being handed absolute entertainment. She rolled her eyes. 

“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth, “Merry. Christmas.” 

Turns out that, more than once, “End of story” meant - for Beca, at least - she’d be sneaking into her own bedroom in the middle of the night. Although that was a scene she _thought_ she left behind back at Barden.

 _Worth it_ , she thought, though, when she changed quickly and walked back out into the living room to find her little girl snuggled up in the corner of the couch again, Chloe standing up by the tree. _Totally and completely worth it._


	237. Getting a Puppy for Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can I please, please, please have a Bechloe get a puppy for Christmas story? :) — sent by bluewildcat4lyfe

Chloe had the habit during the entire month of December of looking at Beca at random moments, squinching her face up, and squealing. 

“I’m thinking about your present,” she would always say in a high pitched voice. “You’re going to _love_ it.” 

So, naturally, it became a sort of joke for Beca to say - over and over and _over_ again - “Chloe Beale, I swear to God, if you bought me a puppy….”

It had become such a saying that the Bellas actually considered putting it on a sweatshirt and gifting it to Beca three Christmases ago. 

They instead settling for buying her a bunch of dog toys, succeeding in sending Beca into an all-out panic two days before Christmas that Chloe had, in fact, purchased a small living creature for her to take care of. 

So, really, the whole situation was ironic. Hilarious, if you had the penchant for exaggeration. 

Because where this story meets Beca is hidden behind the closet doors under the stairs, trying to wrestle a dog into a box that was prewrapped. 

“This,” she whispered, fondling the dog’s tail as she tried to carefully stuff him in, “Is _not_ the part they show in movies and commercials.” 

“Beca?” Chloe said from the kitchen. Her footsteps neared the door, and Beca held her breath, looking down at the puppy who looked confused, scared, and a little worthy of some love. 

For the record, Beca didn’t feel much pity. This dog was being gifted to _Chloe Beale,_ actual puppy and cuddle _queen_. Besides, Beca had already provided her own fair share of cuddles and coddling. She wasn’t exactly _planning_ on getting Chloe a puppy for Christmas, she just…sort of…couldn’t resist. 

“Just a sec,” Beca called out, “I’m finishing wrapping.” 

“Okay, but hurry up!” Chloe was clapping just outside the closet door, “I’m thinking about your present. You’re going to _love_ it.” 

The puppy moved, toppling the box over, and because it seemed like Chloe had walked away, Beca took the time to sigh loudly, putting her hair up in a ponytail. “Okay, you,” she said quietly. “Just…sit still long enough for me to do _something_.” 

The “something” was taking the bow from the box and sticking it on the puppy’s head, because, hey, it was cute enough without all the wrapping paper anyway. Pressing a kiss to the little guy’s forehead, Beca smiled, taking a deep breath. “Showtime,” she whispered, hands ruffling it’s ears. Slowly, she opened the door to the closet, pushing the puppy to stand. “Go,” she said, nudging it. 

“Becs?” 

“Come on, dude,” Beca grunted, nudging it again. The puppy responding by looking back at her and squeaking before rubbing it’s head against her knee. “Go _oooo_. You’ve got better things waiting for you out there.” 

She held her breath as the puppy started to walk, but it became clear pretty quickly that the puppy was moving out only to walk back _in_. It walked in a few circles before plopping down, head resting on Beca’s leg. 

“Beca, you don–” Chloe turned the corner, seeing Beca’s foot peeking out of the closet before she could spot the dog sitting higher up on her leg. 

“Oh,” she said, when she saw the russet ears, the eyes staring up at her like it was already protective of the person it was laying. 

“My,” she said when she noticed the bow placed carefully on it’s forehead. 

“ _God_ ,” she giggled when she realized Beca, who was sitting there with her hair half-up in a ponytail, twisted in the ribbon that she tried to wrap the puppy in. She had a bit of tape on her cheek still, and was sporting a shawl of wrapping paper. 

“Beca Mitchell, what did you _do_?!” 

Beca smiled up at Chloe weakly, gesturing down at the dog that just let out a sigh of contentment. “It’s yours,” she said, “But I don’t think it knows it yet.” 

“Ohmy _God_ ,” Chloe squealed again, immediately kneeling to pet the animal. When she reached out, though, the dog pushed its head back and away from her hand, scooting closer to Beca with a whimper. “It’s like you,” she giggled, and Beca slapped her lightly. 

“I’m not scared of humans.” 

“Check that again,” Chloe hummed, sitting back and waiting for the animal to come to her. “Look, she’s sizing me up.” 

“He,” Beca clarified, “I don’t do that.” 

“Beca, it took you three years to tell me your middle name.”

“That’s different,” Beca sniffed, and Chloe giggled again, reaching out slowly this time so the dog could sniff her hand. 

“Yeah, because you were so forthcoming with physical touch.” 

“What _ever_ ,” Beca grumbled, nudging the puppy over again. Only, when combined with the sniffing, the dog became top-heavy, starting to stumble to the floor until Chloe caught it with a “Whoops!” 

“Clumsy like you too,” Chloe said, “Only he’s only been on these legs for what? Four weeks?” 

“Six,” Beca said, “According to the adoption papers. But also…I’m not clumsy.” 

“Okay,” Chloe said, finally holding the puppy to her chest. She reached down to scratch under its ears and, contentedly, it nestled in. “He. Is. Perfect.” 

“I know,” Beca said. 

“I have to say, though, I never thought all those years of boycotting small animal shaped gifts was so you could do this….” 

“Oh, well, it wasn’t….I mean, I wasn’t….” Beca coughed, leaning forward to pet the dog softly on the nose. “I didn’t plan it. He kinda made me.” 

“Stubborn,” Chloe hummed, “And loving the flabbergasties. If we’re talking names, I’m thinking Beca the Second.” 

“Shut _up._ I didn’t get him so you could mock me.” 


	238. The One with (Actual) Cold Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A comes home to find Person B snuggled on the couch. A gives B a hug, and B screams that A is cold. A touches all over B’s body with cold hands, and playfighting ensues until they’re both warm. — sent by anonymous

Tuesdays were Chloe’s lazy days. 

She had no classes scheduled that day, and, because of rehearsal schedules, it just so happened that there was no Bella business to adhere to that day of the week either. 

She dubbed it “Bum Day”, which, okay, wasn’t the most clever term, but most Bellas had come to respect the blob on the couch of that was Chloe Beale on the second day of the week, only taking the remote from her when it was a matter of utmost importance (Jessica had a thing for men’s soccer, and some Tuesdays she just _had_ to watch the matches they were showing on the most obscure channel). 

It had also, due to series of unfortunate circumstances called The Universe Doing It’s Thing, been Beca’s busiest day of the week - the only day she had _all_ her classes plus time at the internships _plus_ lunch with Jesse and, sometimes, an hour of babysitting her stepsister. 

Which meant, more often than not, that on Chloe’s Bum Day - the only day she felt any ounce of loneliness at all because of the stagnancy of her schedule - the redhead missed the joy of seeing Beca Mitchell. 

With the exception of the day that this story opens in, which features Beca having a free hour with which to come home and make a quick snack or catch a quick shower. Coincidentally, it was also the first day that snow hit Barden, and the day that Beca convinced herself she didn’t need a jacket at all. 

Chloe hadn’t budged when she heard the door open, and still didn’t move when she heard whoever came in struggling to _close_ the door against the wind, instead just flipping the page of the tabloid magazine she was reading. And while she _knew_ Beca hated it when she did this to her, she felt hands covering her eyes and could tell by the scent that it was, without a doubt, the brunette. Who was, without an argument, _absolutely and unbearably cold_. 

“Argh! Beca!” Chloe squealed, jumping up out of her fetal position for the first time that day. “You’re freakin’ _freezing_!” 

“Oh really?” Beca said with a grin, hopping onto the edge of the couch and sliding down so that her bare feet hit Chloe’s shins. “Am I freezing?” 

“Yes!” Chloe squealed again, moving her legs away quickly. 

“Oh come _on_ ,” Beca said, her voice almost a growl in its playfulness. She reached out, pinning her arms on either side of Chloe’s head and curling into the ‘c’ that Chloe’s body was making. “Make me warmmmmmm.” 

She nuzzled, burrowing her hips like an animals, and Chloe was hit with the distinct image of a cat on the rare occasion that they wanted to play. Chloe shivered, poking Beca’s abdomen so this time, she was the one to squeal. Flipping around quickly, Beca put her ice cold finger to Chloe’s nose. “No tickling.” 

“You wanted to be warm!” Chloe said, giggling. She threw the covers over them, grabbing Beca’s hands too tightly and rubbing them right in front of her face. 

“Stopppp,” Beca groaned, trying to pull away, but Chloe just laughed more, moving so that half her body was on top of Beca’s. It was then that Beca moved her feet to touch the bare skin on Chloe’s shin, and she squeaked, jumping up. 

“Come here,” Chloe said, trying her best to force Beca into a hug. 

After a few seconds of resisting, Beca sighed, her giggles breaking down into one steady breath with a few bubbling up at the end. Chloe could feel under her grasp the loosening of Beca’s muscles until finally, she sank into Chloe’s arms, pressing her head back. 

Again, Chloe could see in her mind’s eye the image of a cat, finally curling up to their owner’s body. She ran her hand up and down Beca’s arm to warm her up there. 

“Ice baby,” she muttered, and Beca let the air out from between her teeth. 

“Space heater,” Beca grumbled back, and Chloe giggled into her neck. 

“How long you got?” 

“Twenty minutes, now,” Beca said, not bothering to look up at the phone that was in her bag near the door. Chloe hummed, pulling Beca in tighter. 

“Stay here and get warm,” Chloe said, “I needed a nap anyway.” 

That had happened to be the day, apparently, that the Bellas decided to be significantly quieter around the house than usual - aside from the snapping of photos that happened once Stacie saw the two girls cuddling on the couch. While Beca was counting on waking up during Amy’s vocal lessons or Emily’s daily rant session, they all had unanimously voted to stay quiet so Beca could “get some sleep”. 

It had nothing to do with the cuddles. 

Nothing. At. All. (That narrator, for the record, is winking at you very pointedly). 

She missed most of the things on her schedule that day in favor of the warmth of Chloe’s arms, and, sure, she was surprised to wake up and find the outside had gotten dark as night, but she couldn’t really make the claim that she was disappointed. 


	239. The Forgotten Christmas Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe forgets to give beca her Christmas gift , so Chloe take a trip to beca house to give her gift and then Chloe tell beca how she feels .... — sent by anonymous

She was being ridiculous. 

This was something Chloe Beale had gotten especially good at telling herself over the years, particularly because she was very accustomed to _hearing_ other people say it about her. 

This time, though, she was definitely being ridiculous. 

Because she had missed her flight in favor of a taxi to Beca’s dad’s house, which meant that she had to wait until Christmas _morning_ to fly back home, and what exactly she planned to do with the two days she had planned to be at her house in Florida but would now be stuck at Barden for she didn’t really know. 

But it was _Christmas_. And it was _Beca._ And there was something about they way they had said goodbye that made Chloe feel like she couldn’t just mail the present that had been left under her bed after Beca left that morning for her dad’s place. 

It had been strained - almost awkward, which was scary only because Chloe hadn’t felt awkward with Beca in…well…never. Beca stood in the doorway, watching Chloe pack, without saying much of anything, and when Chloe asked when she was planning on heading out, Beca jumped as if she’d been caught and said, quickly, “Um, now. Actually. Sorry.” 

They exchanged awkward hugs, promised to text, and then Beca was…gone. For three weeks. 

It was the strange interaction, born, no doubt, from the Christmas party the night before and whatever Stacie had said to her while Chloe was sitting on the couch with Legacy, combined with the way the house fell so stunningly silent after Beca left that had Chloe _itching_ for something in the air to change. 

She showered, using up most of the hot water in an attempt to calm down, followed by a rigorous cleaning session that soaked up most of her fuel so that she made it halfway through the third cabinet in the bathroom before giving up completely. When she sat back and had the time to sit still, she saw the way the house tilted slightly without Beca there. It was off-kilter all morning, sure, since the Bellas had all filed out, but the minute Beca jumped out the door….

Chloe was on edge. The irritable, anxious, poisonous on edge, and that mood wasn’t exactly conducive to self-reflection but, even so, she could recognize what had pushed her to that place, and it wasn’t jitters about flying. 

It was the fact that Beca had left, presentless to boot, for three weeks, and while Chloe loved her family, the thought of twenty one days without that munchkin was….well, quite frankly, nausea-inducing. 

So the rest of the actions had been a bit of a blur, from the retrieval of the gift to the getting ready. She was sure that kind of anxious, jumpy mood wasn’t great for driving, but she also didn’t care much, considering she didn’t remember most of the drive either. The power of higher level thinking was replaced with squiggling worms of nerves and regret and the kind of guilt that led to impulsivity. 

All of which pushed Chloe to Beca’s dad’s door, where she was quietly whispering to herself how ridiculous she was. 

“You’re not ridiculous,” she heard from behind her, knowing already that there was a smirk to match the tone. “A bit late to the airport, but not ridiculous.” 

“Beca!” Chloe spun around, taking a deep breath. She looked about to pounce on Beca, already instinctively moving in for a hug, but it was clear that, a foot away, she stopped herself, clearing her throat and shaking her head. “I…You….The gift,” she finally settled on. “I forgot to give it to you.”

“Chloe,” Beca said, reaching out for the miniscule paper-like object being offered to her. “You leave in thirty minutes.” 

“So what?” Chloe said, scoffing. “What’s Christmas without a few travel delays?” 

Beca eyed Chloe suspiciously, eyes squinted, mouth open in confusion. “You’re weird.” 

“Christmas is…ah, important you know,” Chloe said, giggling. Both of them could feel it was fake, and Chloe felt that feeling rising up in her again: anxiety, regret, guilt….

It had dissolved almost completely when she saw Beca’s face, but there was the sense once more that something stretched between them that Chloe couldn’t quite figure out. Like words had yet to be said. 

Slowly, Beca started to open the gift, still not taking her eyes off of Chloe. It was a sticker, small and thin, for Beca’s laptop. The Bellas crest, hand-done by Chloe and stuck onto laminate paper. 

“Just a knick-knack,” Chloe said, “I doodled it, and it seemed like the perfect thing…You know, like there’s a little bit of us in everything you mix.” 

“Chloe,” Beca said again, her tone much lighter and sweeter than it had been before. She tutted, looking at the sticker. “As if my mixes are full of you. Guys.” 

The pause, miniscule but present, between “you” and “guys” was enough to make Chloe’s heart race. She closed her eyes, falling to the steps of the porch without prelude. 

“Chloe?” 

“Sorry, I, uh,” Chloe ran her hands through her hair, “I feel weird.” 

“You’re acting it….” 

“I skipped my flight…”

“I know,” Beca said, sitting down next to Chloe. “Want to tell me why? Because this gift can’t….it can’t be _it_ …”

“It’s not,” Chloe said, her voice already wobbling. “At least, I think it’s not. I just….three weeks is a long time.” 

“You’re telling me,” Beca grumbled, nudging Chloe slightly. “You love your family!” 

“Not as much as I love you?” 

The sounds coming out of her mouth were tiny - not observable by the naked eye - but still clear, somehow, to Beca. Perhaps because she imagined what those lips would look like saying those things, or because they shared some kind of telepathy…either way, by the way Beca’s eyes shot wide open, it was clear that she heard. 

“You _love_ me?” Beca asked, hands making quote signs around love. “Chloe, I don’t know what that means….”

“It means…that I love you. Like really. More than normal people love other normal people. I just…” Chloe sighed, “I didn’t know how to tell you. And today….this morning, actually, I realized how badly I love you. Because being away from you makes me sick…”

“That’s whipped,” Beca mumbled, and Chloe scoffed, slapping Beca. 

“You can’t interrupt me to say something offensive, Beca! That’s not how this works!” 

“Okay, fine!” Beca said, throwing her hands on the ground, “So tell me how this works.” 

“You say you feel the same way, and then we kiss until the sunset….”

Beca took a deep breath, resting her head on Chloe’s shoulder in the silence. 

It was during this time that Chloe reminded herself once more how ridiculous she had the habit of being. 

But when Beca pulled her chin up with her finger and said, eyes trained on Chloe’s mouth, “I feel the same way, can we kiss until the sunset?” Chloe thought to herself….being ridiculous had it’s perks most, if not all, days. 

That’s for fucking sure. 


	240. The One Where They're Being 'Too Enthusiastic'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon requested: Beca wants to talk w/Chloe bout being ‘too vocal on her enthusiasm’ for the sake of their neighbours/housemates.

Beca hovered in the doorway to Chloe’s room, toeing the line of the entryway until the redhead put down her pencil with a smiling spreading slowly over her face. 

“You waiting to tell me the password or…?” 

“Shut up,” Beca said, pressing her forehead to the door to hide the blush that was already spreading over her face. Chloe recognized it though, sensing the kind of change in temperature that hit her when Beca blushed about whatever was going on - or being taken off - in her mind. She kicked the notebook she’d been doodling on to the edge of her bed, stretching her legs out and leaning against her headboard. 

“May I help you?” 

“Yeah, actually,” Beca said, pulling away from the door frame. She swallowed uneasily, eyes flitting around the room. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

“Oh my _god_ , you’re pregnant,” Chloe joked, but Beca only glared at her. “Sorry. That one doesn’t really get old.” 

“Says _you_ ,” Beca grumbled, and Chloe giggled. Scooting the notebook off the bed, Beca sat gingerly on the mattress, hopping up and down slightly before sighing, hands twisted in the seams of the covers. “So….We’ve been getting complaints.” 

“For our sets? We _just_ found our sound…the girls don’t like what we’ve come up w–”

“No,” Beca said, cheeks getting redder. She was now actively avoiding Chloe’s eyes, and the redhead rearranged her crossed arms, sitting up. 

This was either going to be really good or really bad. 

“Um,” Beca said, breathing out a small, embarrassed laugh. “Actually, they’re noise complaints.” 

“Noise complaints? The rehearsal space is _explicitly_ for the Bellas. We’ve never had iss-”

“Chloe!” Beca said, holding her hands up to stop the redhead. “Just, like, let me get this out, okay?” 

Chloe squeaked, sitting back against the headboard and nodding quietly. 

“There was a secret Bellas meeting,” Beca started, looking up at the ceiling, “God this is the most ridiculous thing. Um. Apparently they unanimously voted to have Amy talk to me about what she called ‘the aca-mom’s mating call’.” 

“The aca-mom’s mating call?” 

“The ginger’s cringer? Red’s Bed Pledge? Chlo’s Whoa Show?” 

“Beca,” Chloe said, sitting up again. She grabbed Beca’s hands, which were sweaty as it was, and intertwined her fingers in them. “I love you, but I have no idea what you’re saying.” 

“You’re too loud,” Beca said in one quick breath, watching the words fall into Chloe’s pores and push her face down into a concerned surprise.

“What?” 

“I’m not complaining,” Beca said quickly, “I’m actually kind of….Well, like, good job to me, you know? It’s just….in Stacie’s words, you sorta have to rest your voice sometime.” 

“Like….too loud….” 

“Too enthusiastic,” Beca clarified, seeing the confusion still crossed over Chloe’s face. “In bed, Chlo! In bed. Jesus. No wonder you’ve failed Russian Lit.” Chloe slapped her lightly, and after apologizing laughingly, Beca settled back into the discomfort of the conversation. 

“I can’t believe it,” Chloe finally said, letting go of Beca’s hands in favor of a frustrated wave-away. 

“I know, it’s ridiculous,” Beca said, agreeing as quickly as possible. “I mean, so you’re a little noisy….” 

“What?” Beca’s mouth snapped shut. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

“Um,” Beca threw out a weak grimace. “I feel like this is a trick….” 

“Beca!” Chloe said, throwing herself back on the bed. “You’re _louder_.” 

“Excuse me!” Beca said, standing up quickly. “I am _not_.” 

“Oh _please_ ,” Chloe said, “I thought the _mirrors_ were gonna _crack_ last night.” 

Despite her blush, Beca let out an indignant scoff. “Chloe, the international space station could hear you. As least I have the decency to _try_ to quiet down.” 

“Yeah, with _my_ mouth as a muffler.” 

Beca winced, scratching her head. “Let’s stay away from the word muffler.” 

“Sorry,” Chloe said mindlessly, waving off the comment. “The point is, it is _not_ just me. Miss ‘oh _Chloe_ don’t _stop_ ….’”. 

“I do _not_ sound like that,” Beca said, a finger being pointed right into Chloe’s sternum. 

“Sorry, I forgot the fifteen ‘fuck me’s that you _shout_ right before you–”

“You _like_ that!” Beca said, turning away from Chloe with her arms in the air, frustrated. At that, she was met with silence. Then, laughter. 

Chloe had dropped onto her back, holding her stomach and laughing so hard that she was almost in the fetal position. 

“This isn’t funny, Chlo,” Beca huffed, “I was _humiliated_. They’ve been hearing us this _whole_ time.” 

“That _surprises_ you?” Chloe said between laughs, Beca’s comment only emphasizing the laughter. “Oh my _God_ , this is rich.” 

“I don’t get why you’re laughing,” Beca grumbled. 

“How did you _not_ know everyone could hear us, Becs,” she said, wiping at the corners of her eyes. “These walls aren’t sound-proof.” 

“You _knew_?” 

“I didn’t exactly _care,_ Beca,” she said, biting her lip. “I mean…there were more pressing matters.” 

“Shit,” Beca said, dropping onto the bed back-first next to Chloe. “That means that last week when you wanted to try…”

“Everyone heard,” Chloe nodded, still biting her lip to keep back her laughter. 

“And then when we did th–”

“Yep,” Chloe answered. She reached out, touching the bright red of Beca’s cheeks and feeling the heat that radiated there. “Aw, Babe, it’s _fine_.” 

“It’s so far from fine, actually,” Beca said, her lip sticking out in a pout. “Why do you find this so funny?” 

“Because we’re arguing about our volume level during sex,” Chloe said, “Mind-blowingly good sex that, apparently, the entire Bella team knows about.” 

“The humor is where?” 

“I mean, we could be arguing about worse things, Becs,” Chloe said, grinning. Beca smiled, then, shrugging. 

“Point taken.” 

“Besides,” Chloe started, using the hand that was tickling Beca’s cheek to trail down Beca’s neck and feel the exact spot where she swallowed thicker than usual. “That means we have to work on being quiet.” 

“Yeah,” Beca breathed out, “A challenge.” 

“Mmhmmm,” Chloe hummed, hand getting low enough to pop the first button on Beca’s shirt. “And this is good, because I want us to be _silent_ from now on.” 

“Yeah?” 

Chloe bit her lip, nodding. She leaned over Beca’s slightly, hair falling down like a waterfall to block Beca’s peripheral vision. “But in order to be perfect….”

Beca smiled, the heat from her cheeks spreading down to her chest, where Chloe’s hand lingered. “We have to practice….” she finished, loving when Chloe’s lip-biting turned into a side-smile that made her breath hitch. 

“I mean,” Chloe said slowly, leg twisting between Beca’s. “It’s the only _right_ thing to do.”


	241. The Nightmare Turned Blushing Session

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Imagine Person A having a nightmare in the dead of night and screaming as loud as they can and Person B rushing over from the apartment across the hall in just their underwear. They calm down Person A and Person A seems to be more surprised that Person B wears glasses and looks hot in them than the fact that they’re almost nude.” (Source, @otpprompts ) — sent by scrawniest-calamity

Beca didn’t scream. 

That’s not, like, a sexual joke or reference or innuendo. She actually very much so _never_ screamed. 

In fact, she didn’t even know what her scream _sounded_ like. 

So when Chloe heard the sound erupting from the room downstairs, it was surprising, to say the least, that she was able to tell immediately that it was Beca. Sure, she could tell it was coming from Beca and Amy’s room - and sure, Amy was more often than not outside of the room for her…Bumper festivities. But _still_ , there was something about the scream that was clearly and distinctly Beca. 

The time between the shout and Chloe’s feet stomping down the steps was impressively short. When she made her way to Beca’s room, she saw that Beca was tied up in her sheets, tossing back and forth and crying. Carefully, she put her hands on Beca’s shoulders, holding her still.

“Beca,” she said, “Beca, shhhh, it’s a dream. You’re dreaming.” 

Beca’s face scrunched, and she paused for a moment before falling limp in Chloe’s arms. “Shit,” she muttered, reaching up to wipe her brow. “Shit, shit. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Chloe said, releasing her arms slowly and sitting back. “You’re okay.” 

“I don’t know what that was even ab—Wait,” Beca said, eyes jumping up and down over Chloe. “How long have you worn glasses?” 

“What?” 

Chloe hadn’t been sleeping. In what was a series of extremely rare circumstances, she was awake, looking over set plans, while Beca was asleep dreaming about…well, whatever had gotten her so riled up. She still had her glasses on, donning her pajamas, so that when she was ready for sleep she could just close the computer and slip under the covers. 

She wasn’t thinking when she rushed into Beca’s room - never had a thought other than the fear that was instilled when she heard the sound - which meant she didn’t have time to change. 

It took Beca a few moments of staring at Chloe in the dark lamp light of the room to realize that she was sitting on Beca’s bed in nothing more than an oversized t-shirt and glasses that she had very definitely never seen her wear before. 

And Beca, after just having summoned Chloe to her room via the screams of her nightmares, had the decency to blush. Because she never thought she’d see the day she had a lezbrarian fetish, but here she was, staring at Chloe and getting warmer by the second. 

Which was, in it’s own way, a kind of nightmare. 

“The…the glasses. You have glasses. On your face,” Beca coughed out, pointing hopelessly at the pair of spectacles. 

In her defense, she’d just been woken up. She didn’t exactly have the power to act cool about this entire situation. 

Chloe giggled, rearranging her glasses. “Yeah, I need them to see,” Chloe said. Beca just sat in silence, watching her like she’d never seen Chloe in her life. “Becs, I’m blind as a bat.” 

“This is….that’s…..what?” 

“Is this a thing to discu–”

“You’re not wearing pants,” Beca blurted out, covering her head the minute she opened her mouth. “I’m so sorry.” 

“I’m in my pajamas, Becs,” Chloe chuckled by way of explanation. 

“I didn’t know…that you….” Beca shook her head. Slowly, she lowered herself back down so that she was lying on her pillow. Then, she raised up the covers to cover her face. 

“Beca,” Chloe sang, tugging at the end of the blanket with a laugh.

“No,” Beca grumbled. “I can’t look at you.” 

“You can’t look at me?” 

“Shut up, I feel weird.” 

“You know, when you feel tingly in–”

“Chloe!” Beca threw her blankets back, slapping Chloe lightly on the shoulder so that she started laughing, finally lying down next to Beca and nudging her with her forehead. “That’s _not_ what I was talking about.” 

“Your cheeks are telling me something different,” Chloe said, poking her cheeks lightly. Beca turned her head with a huff, arms crossed, and Chloe laughed more. “If I knew this look did the job, I would put a lot less effort into my daily makeup routine, you know.” 

“You should,” Beca said quickly, but when Chloe looked at her with an eyebrow raised, she coughed. “I just mean that you look good. Now. Like you look nice. Or whatever. Argh….” She covered her face again with her hands until Chloe pried them off finger by finger. 

“I’m glad you like it au natural,” Chloe said, “But these glasses make it hard to cuddle.” 

“Who the fuck said I wanted to cuddle?” Beca said, but her grin was saying something different. 

“You had a nightmare,” Chloe reasoned, reaching a hand up Beca’s arm and squeezing her shoulder so that they were facing each other nose to nose. “Cuddles are the only medicine.” 

And then Beca decided that a pantsless Chloe in bed _cuddling_ was probably the worst nightmare she’d had that night. 

And also, maybe, possibly, maybe, the best dream too. 

She wasn’t about to tell Chloe that, though. 

“Scoot,” Chloe said, burrowing her hips slightly. “I need to get under the covers.” With that, she slipped off her glasses, putting them on the nightstand and smiling down at Beca. “You make a very cute blur.” 

“You’re interrupting my sleep now officially,” Beca said, hoping the glasses-lessness hid her blush. Judging by Chloe’s chuckle, she assumed she wasn’t really safe. 

“You started it.” 

“Forget that shit,” Beca said, eyes already starting to close. “It was just a dumb dream.” 

“Forgetting is what _I’m_ trying to make _you_ do,” Chloe said, pulling a piece of hair back. “Now either you count sheep or you cuddle so…” 

It was with a humph that Beca complied, though she’d never admit that the presence of Chloe did, somehow, take away whatever invisible monster had kept her tossing earlier that night. 

She also would never admit that she was grateful for the cuddles. “Grateful” to say the least. 

None of this diminished the kind of teasing that faced her the very next morning, when Chloe had enough thought - and presence of pants - to realize that the high-pitched squeal that was Beca previously unheard scream was _very_ worthy of mocking. 


	242. The Secret Christmas Decorations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here be a Christmas Prompt: established Bechloe, like married n shit, Beca is secretly surprising a huge christmas eve surprise for Chloe but acts all totally distant and stuff so Chloe thinks somethings up and then Chloe comes home from the store or something and the entire house is decorated all cute and christmassy and stuff and Chloe cries and it is al just amazing and i realize this is nothing really to go on but FA LA LA LA LA have fun with it, i trust you. — sent by anonymous

Beca had _watched_ herself dig herself into a hole with this whole “Christmas surprise” thing. 

Because at first it was just a cute idea. And Beca never really had cute ideas, but she _did_ have an intense amount of passion for things, which meant that - this one time only - all her mental capacity was geared towards this rare cute idea, eventually blowing it up until, once all the plans were set, it looked definitively impossible. 

Not only that, but she could tell that her inability to hold a secret without at least raising the alarm was getting herself in trouble with Chloe, who had spent the last week guiltily snooping around the house. It was adorable the way Beca would walk in on Chloe reaching towards her laptop or opening the bathroom cabinets, eyes wide and guilty like it was _her_ fault that she didn’t trust Beca. Or couldn’t trust Beca. Or whatever. 

She wasn’t really interested in the consequences of this surprise being an analysis of how her wife had no reason to trust her fickle, unworthy heart. She was self-deprecating, but not _that_ self-deprecating. Or, at least, she _wouldn’t_ be self-deprecating. Not this time, because, if she were being honest, this was a damn good plan and her worries about Chloe’s worries took a backseat to those impossible plans we were talking about. 

It actually had reached the point where Aubrey called her - she was never much of a texter - nervously snapping at Beca to “not freak out…it’s just a phone call” because Chloe had been sending her texts and snapchats about why she concerned for weeks. Then, of course, the redhead went away for a teacher conference in the middle of the state, to be gone only around twenty hours if she had anything to say about it, and while it was the perfect time to initiate the game plan, Chloe left with eyes that shifted all over the house, a kiss that left Beca’s lips tingling, and a text saying, “Be good ;)” - making it clear enough that, okay, at this point, Chloe did _not_ trust her at the moment. 

It wasn’t her fault that the planning involved several trips to the store, a few online purchases, and hours of diagram-drawing for where all the decorations would go. Besides, she had mixes to make specifically for the moment, entailing days of being glued to her laptop screen. 

These things weren’t _her_ fault. They were the fault of the situation - the very adorable, overwhelmingly cute situation - and therefore, Beca couldn’t feel any secondhand guilt for Chloe’s cautions towards her. 

For now, it wasn’t about any of that. For now, all of Beca’s energies had to be focused on getting the house ready in under twenty four hours. This was a struggle only because she was one very tiny (not admittedly) woman who had to cover every inch of the house in all things Christmas….

…And their apartment had pretty high ceilings. 

She hauled in the supplies from the closet outside their place, leaving a trail of pine in her wake but not finding it in herself to care very much. She had made the dough while Chloe was at school the day before, leaving it to rise and chill, and the plan was that after the tree was up, she’d start the baking. Once she put the cookies in the oven - more for the scent than for the taste - she would string the banister with, well, boughs of holly, wrap them in lights, and set up every single annoying package of fake snow she could purchase. 

There were fake candles and real candles and glowing white shit in jars that took longer than Pinterest ever suggested it would, so that turning on the overhead lights seemed almost… _harsh._ Besides, the tree was sparkling itself, somehow, and so she kept the lights off most of the rest of the prep-time, liking the ambience that it held when combined with the christmas carols she’d manage to mix with every single Taylor Swift song available. On every available surface, she set up those tiny Christmas villages, so that as you walked through the apartment it felt like you were walking through some tiny Victorian province, complete with miniature millers and bakers and little boys tugging wagons of evergreens. 

The text came in at 7:33pm, right after Beca had taken the cookies out of the oven. 

 _three hrs away,_ it said, _get rid of your mistress_

Chloe particularly enjoyed throwing out all her anxieties and concerns into one little self-deprecating joke, adding a weak laugh at the end all the while watching Beca with judging eyes. 

Beca laughed at this, shaking her head. 

 _Three hrs is plenty of time,_ Beca answered, _she’ll be out of here before ur back no worries :)_

Then, there was an uncomfortable period of two and a half hours where Beca was actually finished with the plans that were supposed to take up to the very last minute. She sat down on the couch, looking around, occasionally standing up to fix something before jumping back in position again.

By the time the knob turned, she was going quickly on the route to insanity. 

“Babe, I’m ho—” Chloe stopped in the doorway, her duffel bag hanging limply on her arm until she straightened it, punctuating her interrupted sentence with the thump of the bag on to the ground. 

Beca had put on a Santa hat while she waited for Chloe, throwing on a red button down, her red and green plaid skirt, and knit tights. “Hey,” she said weakly, throwing out a meager wave. 

For all her planning, she didn’t really know what to say or do now. So she stood there awkwardly, one hand on the pillow of the couch. 

“Beca,” Chloe said in awe, looking around at the walls with her jaw wide-open. 

“You’ve been too busy with the choir concert and making the final and tutoring, and so I thought I’d take on the responsibilities this year,” Beca explained, stepping forward. 

“You hate this stuff,” Chloe said mindlessly. 

“Let’s not confuse hate with laziness,” Beca said. “I just….So…You kinda make Christmas worth it for me. Like all the terrible songs and the whole ‘having to share my wife with people at Christmas parties’ thing….You’ve got this….” She paused, putting the hands she was fiddling with behind her back. “Christmas kinda sucks when you’re older. Because it’s, like, not as bright as it was when we were younger, and way not as magical. But you….I feel like a little kid when this time of the year comes around with you. I didn’t even feel like a little kid when I _was_ a little kid, Chlo.” 

The redhead giggled, stepping forward to grab onto Beca’s collar and move her closer. “This is amazing.” 

“It’s our little…winter wonderland. I think the line’s supposed to be ‘You take me somewhere magical everyday, I thought I’d finally take you there too?’” 

“Cornball,” Chloe said, and Beca rolled her eyes. 

“That’s why I didn’t say it _seriously_ ,” she argued. “I just wanted to tell you that if I were _you_ that’s what I would say.” 

“I would never say that,” Chloe said, her voice getting quieter as she got closer to Beca’s lips. “No, I’d be much more likely to say something like…. ‘I’ll show _you_ a wonderland’”. 

“That’s _terrible_ ,” Beca groaned, but she was biting her lip, tilting her head and leaning in closer. 

“That’s the point,” Chloe said. She was laughing, giggling, really, but there was a small tear falling out of her eye. “I thought you were doing something dumb.” 

“To some people, this _is_ something dumb,” Beca said, and Chloe laughed more. Beca reached up, picking up the tear with her thumb. “You make me do dumb things.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Beca said, “Like falling in love. Getting married. Starting a family.” 

“Starting a family?” Chloe asked, backing up slightly. Beca’s gaze was averted, aimed down at her feet, which were turned in on each other, and Chloe squealed at that response. “You want to?” 

“I want to try,” Beca said. “I thought if I could do something _this_ ridiculous, then….that wouldn’t be too far away.” 

“Shut up,” Chloe said. “It won’t be ridiculous. _This_ isn’t ridiculous.” 

“No?” 

Chloe shook her head, eyes aimed at Beca’s lips. Finally, she closed the distance between them, thumb running along Beca’s jawline and pulling her closer until Beca squeaked and they separated. “Not ridiculous,” she breathed. “More like….perfect.”


	243. The One With the Older Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas prompt: Chloe's equally attractive, slightly older, sister comes to the Bella house for Christmas. Chloe gets jealous because Beca and her sister keep sneaking away and giggling and thinks they're flirting. Beca eventually tells Chloe it's cause her sisters been trying to get her to admit her feelings for Chloe. Or something like that? Pleeeeaaasssseeee. — sent by anonymous

It was something that she’d grown accustomed to. 

In grade school, before she had the ability to say her “r”s correctly and between rounds of _very_ involved touch-football games, Chloe was a tomboy, complete with a _ridiculous_ baseball cap she wore with her everywhere. Most, if not all, of her friends were boys, and there was a distinct shift around the time her sister hit her freshman year in high school when the boys wanted to come over for reasons beyond her extra large front yard - perfect for playing neighborhood baseball games. 

Then, of course, there was high school, complete with boyfriends who had wandering eyes around the holidays when her sister came home. Even the teachers, most of whom were women, looked up excitedly from the roster her freshman year only to inspect every inch of Chloe to look for points of comparison between her and her older sister. 

Her grandmother had found ways to make it sound…polite. “You’re the one who’s going to settle down,” she said, “Your sister’s out there for a good time.” 

It wasn’t the most _correct_ thing her grandmother could say, and it always had a way of making Chloe feel that much shittier around the holidays, but she tried. They all did, really. 

There wasn’t any way around it, though, and it never much bothered Chloe because of the fact that she never really knew any differently. 

Her sister was hot. 

I mean, she was too. She knew that. She _knew_ that. 

But her sister….

Her sister had the height she never inherited, and it all went straight to her legs, which seemed to stretch on for miles. While Chloe had gotten her father’s red hair, she was given white-blonde hair that curled naturally, grown out to her waist most years - but even when she cut it she could pull it off. She had Chloe’s eyes and Chloe’s cheekbones, but she was…more…endowed than her little sister ever managed to be, and she dressed like she knew it. 

Mostly because she _did_ know it. 

That, Chloe always thought, was what made her capital-H “Hot”. She walked like there was always a downbeat playing in the background, hips knowing just how to sway, and even when she wore sweats she managed to unzip the sweatshirt to _just_ the right point. She tanned when Chloe kept her pale skin, and started wearing makeup when she was twelve so that by now she perfected the art of it all. She took all of her conventionally attractive features, and she expanded on them, using every inch of them to her advantage. 

She couldn’t sing, though, which had always been Chloe’s saving grace. She couldn’t sing for her life. 

So, yes, Chloe was used to it. She just….wasn’t expecting Beca to fall prey to it too. 

In fact, she never even warned Beca, who’d heard enough about Chloe’s sister that the redhead assumed she would just _assume_. She had told every story about the sordid boyfriends, the sneaking out, the bra shopping and makeup tutorials…..

Warning Beca wasn’t something she even thought she’d need to do. 

One of Chloe Beale’s fatal flaws, it seemed, was underestimating the power that was her sister. 

They’d arrived three days ago, with her sister opening the door and _immediately_ throwing Beca into a hug that, due to height differences, ended in Beca’s nose being stuffed _right_ into her chest. When they separated, the brunette’s face was so red it resembled Chloe’s hair. 

At dinner, her sister called out Beca’s name, patting the chair next to her. “We must confer,” she said, eyebrow raised and stare focus on Beca, who was nervously standing between the two of them. “I’m going to need her close to me.” 

Not to mention the events of the Christmas movie they all sat down for at the end of the night, which was picked out by Chloe’s father. Her sister plopped down on the loveseat, swinging her legs over the edge and calling out to Beca once more, not even requesting her presence but instead asking for her to bring a blanket when she “comes to sit with me”. 

The behaviors were bad enough, but what made it worse was that Beca was _responding_ to it all, and doing so willingly. They had woken up early - earlier than Chloe could ever convince Beca - and the redhead woke up to the sound of them giggling from the corner of the kitchen, pancakes completely forgotten as batter in the bowl. From there, they went to the department store for last minute gifts, all agreeing to split up so they wouldn’t see what they got each other. She ran into Beca in an aisleway, only to find that her sister was waiting with a cart, making it clear enough that they were shopping together - if they were shopping at all. 

It wasn’t that Chloe was jealous, because that would be ridiculous. Beca came to the holidays because her mom and her mom’s new boyfriend - who really was a sweetheart - had decided to go on a cruise for the holidays and she wasn’t feeling spending the day with her step-family. That’s it. There was nothing more to it - and, unfortunately, there never _had been_ anything more to it. 

Which meant that Chloe didn’t have the right to be jealous of the interactions between her sister and Beca. But, in her defense, this was her entire life, and if there was one thing that was safe from the impossibly strong pull of her sister, it was her Barden life. 

Or so she thought. 

By the end of the third day, on Christmas Eve, she broke. Beca had said goodnight to Chloe very decidedly, slipping into the twin bed next to Chloe (there was a spot on the floor made up for her, but Chloe insisted she have a mattress. For her back. _Sure_.) and making it clear that she was too exhausted to engage in the normal level of casual conversation she normal shared with Chloe before bed. Only, her phone was in her hand, and after forty-five minutes of her letting out occasional snorts after opening her phone again in the darkness, Chloe spun around in the bed, facing Beca with a huff. 

“Let me see that.” 

“What?” Beca said, her grin still on her face. “No! Creep.”

“Beca,” Chloe turned so she was facing the ceiling, hands on her chest. “I know you like my sister.” 

Beca put down her phone, eyebrows furrowed. “Chloe….”

“No, it’s fine,” Chloe said harshly, shaking her head. “It’s totally fine. I just…I didn’t she was her type.” 

“You don’t know my type,” Beca said, and Chloe sighed. It might as well have been a confession. 

“I didn’t know your type was girl,” Chloe said, scratching her forehead. “You know what? It’s none of my business. Just…if you want to flirt can you not do it via text from my bed. While I’m _in_ my bed. Please.” 

“Chloe, you’ve got to be kidding,” Beca said, putting a hand on Chloe’s shoulder before she shrugged it off. “Chloe, come on. I’m not into your sister.” 

“Yes you are!” Chloe said, sitting up. “I’m not blind, Beca! I see the way you two are with each other. Like you know something I don’t know.” 

“That’s because we do.” Chloe’s sister had burst into the room, the light from the hallway pouring in. She was grinning, an eyebrow raised, lips pursed. “Walls are thin,” she said by way of explanation. 

“This….can you…..why are you here?” Chloe finally settled for, hands hitting the mattress in frustration. 

“Because I overheard,” she said, “And I have a feeling Beca would rather convince you we’re dating than tell you the truth. Which, no offense, Becs, but I tried chicks in college and it’s not my thing.” 

“That’s not….We’re not….” Beca squeaked, eyebrows going from the tip of her forehead to being extremely furrowed and back again. She looked between the two girls owlishly, unsure what to do. Finally, she shook her head, sighing. “Your sister is as nosy and involved as you are, Chlo.” 

“I know,” Chloe and her sister said at the same time. Her sister stood in the doorway still, arms crossed.

“So if you two aren’t flirting then….” Chloe looked right at Beca, ignoring the presence of her sister purposely. 

“Then we’re discussing….things,” Beca said. She started picking at the thread of the covers, biting her lip. 

“Oh my _god,_ Beca, you _need_ to tell her already,” Chloe’s sister said, stepping more into the room. “I knew the minute I saw her, Chlo. You’re really more unaware than I thought you’d be.” 

“ _Will someone please tell me what the heck you’re talking about?!”_ Chloe squealed finally, letting herself fall to her pillow with hands on her face. 

“Beca likes you,” Chloe’s sister said. “Like, wants to jump your bones, and not in a best friend way.” 

“Thanks,” Beca said harshly, pulling the covers up higher on her body. “Jesus Christ, you don’t mince words.” 

“Beale girls don’t usually,” Chloe’s sister said. She walked to the door, one hand on the doorknob already. “Which is about to come in handy with you once Chloe spits out whatever she feels in return.” 

With that, her sister left, but not without a quick shout of “Use protection…or whatever you two need” from the other side of the closed door. 

“What?” 

Chloe couldn’t sit back up, instead just looking up at Beca from where she was lying down. Beca turned, resting her weight on one arm to look down at Chloe, and she fought every ounce of instinct that told her to break away, look down, and come up with an excuse. “There it is,” Beca said, shrugging. “She kinda got the gist of it.” 

“And that’s….that’s true?” Chloe asked. Beca swore she saw a touch of hope in Chloe’s eyes, but they were so blue and she was so scared that she wasn’t really sure what she was looking at. 

“Yeah,” Beca said, and even in the dark Chloe saw her blushing. “She pulled me aside, like, the second you went to put our bags upstairs to tell me that you had a ‘lady boner’. Let me tell you, Chloe, I hate aca-puns, but I am _so_ grateful for the term toner and it’s distance from the word ‘boner’.” 

“Beca,” Chloe said, started to giggle. She reached a hand out, brushing it over Beca’s cheeks. “Stop talking about the word boner.” 

“Sorry,” Beca said, and it was then that she looked down, only the act was so…humbly adorable that it made Chloe’s chest surge in warmth, filling the place previously occupied with frustrated jealousy. “I’m not as good with words as you girls….”

“You like me?” Chloe squeaked out, just to make sure. 

“I feel like I’ve said it a thousand times, but yeah,” Beca breathed out. “I kinda really do. But I don’t know if your sister was right about y—”

Chloe ended the rambling early with her lips, having pulled Beca down by her old t-shirt and using the leverage to snake her hand around to the back of her neck. 

When they pulled away, Beca grinned. “We need to go back to Target,” she breathed, and Chloe burst out in giggles. “What?” Beca said, pulling back, “I need to get your sister a better gift now, because….”

“Wow,” Chloe finished, nodding. “Yeah, a gift card’s not going to do the job anymore.” 


	244. The Unseen Hood Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, i just had an idea while watching pp2. That happens 4 years after the first. So that means 3 hood nights we didn't see. Maybe we could see how one of them played out, via your amazing brain. A lot of bechloe dancing and just general merriment since they're not together. Or you can just claim authors authority and you know, bechloe the hell out of it. -hospital anon — sent by anonymous

Beca wasn’t one for parties. They were loud, crowded, and filled with people she never had the intention of talking to again, so compared to the safe silence of her own room they never really stood a chance. 

There was something about hood night that was different, though. 

There was always a taste in the air - the crispness of fall mixed with a certain kind of hopefulness that brought with it a spark of something….more.

So she was a little cheesy. So what? She had to live with these girls for four years, the cheesiness was bound to seep in eventually. 

Her sophomore year, she had had the flu. 

“I _told_ you to get the flu shots when they were being offered in the library,” Chloe sang, handing Beca another tissue from her pocket as they walked up the porch steps. 

“Shut up,” Beca grumbled in a more nasally voice than usual. 

“You could’ve just stayed home,” Amy mumbled, “Protected us from the snot-infested waters that is currently your brain.” 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Beca said. For the record, it sounded much more like “I’m finbbah”. This is important to note because, well, it proved that she was very much not fine. 

Jesse, germaphobe that he was, had called a boycott of his girlfriend that night, refusing to sacrifice what he jokingly called “the voice of the ages” to whatever illness she’d contracted. In fact, the only person that bothered to stand next to Beca was Chloe, who dragged Beca to the kitchen of the house they were at, found the whiskey, and brewed up a hot tottie with the clear instruction that that was all Beca was going to drink that night. 

“You _don’t_ have to sit here with me,” Beca said from the corner of the couch. Chloe was perched on the armrest, squished as they were by the festivities going on from the _other_ end of the couch. “You should go out and dance. That’s your favorite.” 

“Oh _shush_ ,” Chloe said, giggling. She grabbed Beca’s hand and started to fiddle with it to the beat of the song bumping around them. “I’ve been to four of these already. And I’ll tell you a secret–” she leaned in, pulling Beca’s hair back and decidedly ignoring the fevered heat that was radiating from Beca’s face. “This is the best one yet.” 

“Shut up,” Beca pulled back. “This sucks. I’m _sick_.” 

“I thought you were fine,” Chloe challenged, an eyebrow raised. Beca glared back, gesturing at her body. She was deflated, eyes hazy from fever, and her nose was pinker than Rudolph’s was red. 

“You get the point…”

“Whatever,” Chloe said, sitting up straighter, “Best company a girl could ask for. Alive or dead.” 

“I’m not dead,” Beca fought, but she broke out in a fit of coughs after that left her wincing. “Point taken.” 

It was an exception to the normal routine, because Beca would normally look for any excuse to leave - the flu being a solid one as it is - and because Chloe would normally resist anyone who tried to stop her from having fun. But there on the couch, they watched the activities around them, from drunken Bella undoubtedly taking on a Trebles’ terrible dare to a rendition of Sexy Back that was _anything_ but sexy, and they shared a whispered commentary between the two of the them, giggling all the while. 

Beca, convinced it was a fever dream for _months_ after, held onto the feeling of Chloe’s cold hand in her burning hot one, remembering just barely the kiss left on her temple when she started to drift to sleep and Chloe offered to take her back. 

The year after that was markedly better, mostly because no one was dying from influenza, and Beca remembered distinctly trying to taken advantage of the fact that she practically lost a hood night from the year before. 

She borrowed the shirt Stacie always said she’d look “hot” in, and wore a pair of Chloe’s high heels, engaging in a small pregame in her and Amy’s room beforehand that consisted of a few shots of vodka and several winks sent from Chloe to Beca that promised the redhead was starting to get pretty tipsy. 

They played Taylor Swift right after they played Beyonce, and after that they put on a Dixie Chicks song just so the girls could scream at nothing and get emotional for a second, and Beca felt like she was literally _bouncing_ to the beat the entire time - it never felt voluntary, but more like she naturally was flowing with the rest of the crowd, not wanting to break out. 

At one point, they ended up on the small porch-like fireplace, slightly raised from the rest of the crowd. Chloe stood next to her, as she stood on the end, and boys walked up to dance with all of them one-on-one, but each time that happened, they’d step in, swiping a hand over each other’s hips to turn them slightly and protect them from men’s wandering eyes. 

She recalled thinking that this was what it was like to feel like she belonged. 

She recalled thinking that this was what it was like to be a part of something. 

She recalled thinking that this was what it was like to go to a party and to _like_ it. 

 _This_ was what those movies were going on about. 

 _This_ was what those songs all bragged about. 

This feeling of invincibility wrapped up in an nondiscretionary youth, like you are everything and nothing at the same time and therefore all eyes are on you without anyone looking at you at all. 

Hood night was something different for Beca. Something special. Something she never really wanted to end, and though she woke up every morning after (the flu year included) with a throbbing headache that made the walls look like they were _moving_ , it never for one second seemed… _not_ worth it. 

Which was cheesy. Like I said, she knew that. 

But you try having an entire bottle of cheap champagne by yourself to “celebrate” the beginning of acapella season without getting a little sentimental….


	245. The One With Aubrey and Christmas Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CHRISTMAS PROMPT! Could you do one where Chloe & Beca have only been dating a few months and Aubrey's still not totally sold on Beca as a good girlfriend so when xmas comes around she keeps asking over and over if Beca wants help picking a gift for Chloe and Beca keeps turning her down and xmas comes around and Chloe gives Beca a present (fluff pls!!!) and then Chloe opens becas present whatever it is, it's the most adorable and heart-warming thing and Aubrey's like, ok u win this round mitchell — sent by anonymous

“I’m just _saying_ ,” Aubrey said, picking a piece of lint from her shoulder. “I’ve got a list.”

“And I’m just saying I don’t need a list,” Beca said back. “I’ve got this.” 

There was a look Aubrey managed to maintain almost constantly around Beca - the kind you give a dog who hadn’t been potty trained yet. The kind that suggested you never trusted the person you were looking at. 

It bothered Beca, and rightly so, because it felt as if this was a challenge of some sort. Like someone wasn’t expecting her to win, and she had to prove her wrong. 

Not that that was going to be a _challenge_ so to speak. She knew Chloe. She _knew_ Chloe. 

It had been a few months, sure, and there were still always instances of realizing something new, but from the freckle in her eye to the curve of her lip right before she cried in a movie, Beca knew Chloe. Beca, the girl who never inherently understood humans at all, knew Chloe. 

That didn’t stop Aubrey from asking. 

And asking.

And asking. 

Before rehearsals, and after set organization sessions. Between brunch and cardio. 

There were texts sent at two in the morning, and even, God forbid, an _email._

And it was always accompanied by a sing-song voice that implied Aubrey _knew_ Beca would come crawling to her in a time of need. 

Which was…annoying. 

But also inherently and undoubtedly encouraging to the cause. 

So on the night before they all left for break, when Beca knocked on the door to the Bella house and Aubrey answered, the only response was a slight grin on Beca’s end that implied victory. “Hey,” she said, coughing down the cockiness that was building up in her voice.

“Hey,” Aubrey said. She was straightening her back, arms crossed as she leaned against the doorway. 

“I’m here….for Chloe.” Beca held up the bag in her hand, looking pointedly at it and then back at Aubrey, who moved out of the way promptly with a huff. 

She sneaked her way into Chloe’s room without much sound, squeezing Chloe’s shoulders lightly and bending down enough to breathe on her neck. 

“Merry Christmas,” she said, dropping the bag in Chloe’s lap without any more presentation. Chloe squeaked, spinning around so that Beca could move to sit on Chloe’s lap. 

She had spent an entire Saturday trying to find the perfect thing, searching from kooky bead store to quirky bead store and all back again for exactly the kind of bead she was looking for. 

So when Chloe picked it up by the string, a small clear-red painted lady bug bead sitting at the end of it, she squealed, holding her hand up to her mouth. 

“You always talk about how they have the power to something like a bug into something…cute. And comfortable. And not-scary. And I kinda think…God, this is dumb. But I kinda think this is what you did to me? Whatever, don’t hate it,” Beca said, covering her face until Chloe pulled away her hands, trying her best to catch Beca’s eyes. 

“It’s,” she said, taking Beca’s face and pulling it closer, “Perfect.” 

Beca knew Chloe. Right down to every touch of her cheesiness. 

Aubrey didn’t have to see the gift to know that Beca was successful. She…knew. For reasons that the narrator prefers not to describe here. The narrator would also like to insert a winky face at this point. 

Either way, when Beca left around midnight, Aubrey was sitting on the couch, arm slung over the edge. 

“See ya,” Beca said, the smile on her face saying it all. Aubrey’s eyes squinted, lips pursed, and Beca recognized it distinctly as the look of defeat. 

“Yeah,” she muttered. “March 3rd is her birthday.” 


	246. The One With Beca as a PA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @kristinalally requested: Beca’s stuck on set, and there’s a certain redhead who’s making it a bit more bearable….

Beca wasn’t a morning person, and if anyone tried to argue about the joys of watching the sunrise, she would remind them that sunrises were great when you could go back to bed afterwards. Because the thing about mornings was that they were frequently followed by days, and those days frequently lasted longer than Beca was capable of functioning capably. 

Today, for instance, the sound of the alarm came with the weight of knowing that she was about to be at work for twelve hours - the pessimistic part of her mind wanted to add an “at _least”_ at the end of that - which meant that her coffee just tasted like it was foreshadowing some blend of regret and exhaustion. 

To hate mornings wasn’t _that_ out of the question, now, was it? 

She was, as per usual, the first person to show up aside from a janitor who hadn’t finished his rounds and a certain redhead who was sitting in the middle of the floor, texting. 

“Morning, Becs,” she said mindlessly, stretching her legs from being crossed to splayed out in front of her. 

“You know, you don’t have to get here at the ass crack of dawn,” Beca grumbled. She pulled her walkie talkie from her bag, flipping it on for a second before stuffing it into her back pocket. 

“But you do,” Chloe answered easily. “Hardly fair, yunno. First person to come, last person to leave….” 

“Two people in misery isn’t any better than one person,” Beca countered. She walked over to the small kitchenette in the corner, starting the coffee pot. 

“Ah, but one is the loneliest number,” Chloe said. “Besides, it’s not misery. I had to get up to run anyway.” 

Beca eyed Chloe. There was nothing off about her appearance - she still had her jacket on, sure, and the weather meant that she was adorned with a beanie instead of her normally laid-back style, but when it came to her makeup, it was perfectly applied. She didn’t seem the least bit A) exhausted or B) haggard, which is what Beca would _undoubtedly_ be looking like if she got up at four in the morning to _run_ before _work_. 

“You’re insane,” Beca concluded, almost scoffing at the easy smile-shrug that Chloe offered in return. There was always something about this interaction that kept Beca from losing her mind most mornings - the kind of pride Chloe radiated when Beca expressed her inability to comprehend her schedule, the little wink that occurred too early in the morning to deal with…it all contributed to this kind of giddiness that Beca had to either keep tightly under wraps or deal with via being extra loud, extra bouncy, and completely out of character. 

The coffee maker guzzled when she put the pot in it’s place, and, to herself, she grinned. Sure, she would need at least three more cups today, but Chloe was on set. Which, at the very least, took away the need for one of her usual four cups. 

It was a good job, admittedly. One that she was lucky enough to have after breaking up with her live-in (ex) boyfriend Jesse and fully expecting to be thrown out on her ass. But, really, this was _his_ game - his turf - and while she was grateful he stuck out his neck to get her rolling with this network, there were plenty of days when she couldn’t even remotely understand what the cast and crew were even _doing_ , let alone how people could enjoy it. 

It should be said, though, that aside from the one time Chloe invited herself over after what might have been the longest day on set _ever_ to force Beca to watch the Bachelorette, television wasn’t really Beca’s entertainment of choice. This effectively made the entire situation just a touch funnier - how do you stand on set for upwards of twelve hours without even _liking_ TV? 

This, it seems obvious to point out, was one of Jesse’s favorite points of mockery when he stopped by with lunch now and then. A habit that she wouldn’t mind endure at the present moment, six hours after showing up before the rest of the world to get to work. 

She checked her phone between takes around three times a minute, expecting there to be some sort of text from him about subs or coffee or _anything_ really that both had the power to break up the monotony of the day and offer her some kind of nutritional benefit. 

There was a network meeting today, though, one of those big ones that kept him up all night in the living room - “Why can’t you work in your _own_ room?” she had asked when he plopped down on the couch. “Because this is my apartment, and my ex-girlfriend isn’t exactly paying me enough rent to make me _not_ want to sit on my couch. Now scoot” - so the chances of getting any word from him was slim to none anyway. 

“A watched pot never boils,” she heard said from behind her. When she turned around, hating the way she almost felt guilty for checking her phone, she saw Chloe smiling. 

If that redhead was an extra cup of coffee for Beca, Beca didn’t exactly have an accurate metaphor for what she must be to _herself_ , because now, around the time when energy all across the set was draining rapidly, Chloe was bright and shining as ever, grinning with pursed lips and arms crossed. 

“I’m not watching it…or, like…I don’t want it to boil…or whatever,” Beca tried, slipping her phone away. 

“No hot date checking in on you?” Chloe asked. The cameraman beside them shook his head, chuckling. Beca glared.

“The prospect of me having a love life isn’t _that_ funny, Phil,” Beca grumbled, but the way both Chloe and the man raised their eyebrows in uncertainty only made the two break out into laughter even more, earning a glare from Beca that - had they not known her well enough - would’ve stung. 

“Oh, come on,” Chloe said when Beca started to walk away. She hopped a bit to catch up to her. “You know I’m just messing with you.” 

Her arm easily intertwined with Beca, and by applying the added weight of her body, she managed to make Beca stop walking for a moment. 

“Food,” Beca said simply. She tried to hide her smirk when Chloe responded with a resolute nod and smile, snapping. 

“Fridge?” 

There were moments like that throughout the day - small instances of breaks amidst the tidal wave of some strangely hectic boredom, and it wasn’t lost on Beca that the only person accompanying those breaks was Chloe. She thought, at first, that the reason for this was obvious: Chloe _was_ a break, in and of herself, and everyone on set would agree with that. She was pretty sure, actually, that Chloe’s job was just “set morale booster” or “personal cheerleader”, but she was never really going to have the gall to ask. 

Only, she began to realize that it had much more to do with Beca herself than she originally thought. Because it was only when she started drifting - eyelids getting heavier, responses getting shorter - that Chloe stepped in to offer a joke or a wink or a wiggle of her hips that was so ungodly unnatural for anyone _other_ than Chloe that it never failed to make Beca laugh. 

It was clear that Chloe knew when to hold out some kind of crack in the unending series of hours, and it was even more clear that she had her eyes focused on Beca throughout the day to ensure she wouldn’t miss one moment of needed tension relief. 

A guardian angel, Beca realized. She had her own personal professional guardian angel, complete with ridiculous blue eyes, to, as Chloe always would say, “Keep the grumps away”. 

Of course, that was a bit of a romanticization - and one Beca tried her best to avoid, because Chloe was inherently human, and also a co-worker, and also a friend (she _thought_ ….the line between friendship and work acquaintance got more and more unclear the more Beca delved into the professional world), so even being under a small impression that Chloe was present for anyone other than her own self was dangerous and gross and very much against the way Beca preferred to look at people. 

She imagined that the sun had set outside the studio, although there was no way to know, and it was that feeling of being so trapped that evening wasn’t even identifiable that brought Beca to sit on the sound-stage, yawning, with her head in her hands. 

“What’s up, buttercup?” Chloe asked, slipping right next to Beca just as the brunette learned to expect. 

Had she checked the schedule earlier, the morning wouldn’t have been that hard. It was always easier to get to work when she knew Chloe was slated for that day too. 

A sad, pathetic truth of a sentiment, right there. 

Beca responded with a grunt and nothing more, hoping the sound was enough to convey just how _over it_ she was at this point. 

Chloe giggled. She _giggled_. On set since five in the morning, and awake way earlier, Chloe Beale found it within herself to giggle, and Beca, so surprised and yet also not un-phased, started to giggle too. Suddenly, the prospect of being there any longer was less tortuous and more…hysterical. 

She was, very probably, losing her mind. 

“I’m a mess,” Beca admitted, taking a deep breath to calm herself of her laughter. Chloe hummed thoughtfully, picking up the wire from Beca’s headset and fondling it without thinking. 

She didn’t have to say anything. There was, of course, witty banter. Sarcastic remarks. Possibly unwanted touching that made way to Beca smiling in spite of herself. Instead, though, Chloe opted for silence. She opted for thinking. 

Beca thought, in this weird world of constant movement and seemingly no progress, that watching her friend Chloe think was possibly the most satisfying thing she’d seen all day. 

She wanted to ask how Chloe knew that all she needed was a touch of silence at that very second to gather enough strength to get through the final hour, but that would, in fact, _break_ the very silence that was currently saving her, so she kept her mouth shut. After a few minutes, Beca was actually in danger of falling asleep, and with Chloe’s head on her shoulder, she thought the redhead might be too. Sighing loudly, she glanced down at the other girl, and Chloe sat back up, her smile as wide and resilient as ever.

As pointed out, Beca was inherently against the romanticization of such things. But there was something about Chloe’s absolute refusal to let the hours pound down on her that was undeniably beautiful (aside from also being fascinating…Beca thought maybe scientists could learn a lot from the way a Chloe Beale mind worked). 

“Chinese,” Chloe said simply, hands making their way to Beca’s knees. “Your place. Kardashians.” 

“Kardashi-what?” Beca stumbled, and Chloe’s eyes widened. 

“You have to be frickin’ kidding me,” the redhead said in awe. When Beca squinted suspiciously and shook her head, Chloe squealed loud enough for the people nearby to glance over. 

“Your night just got _way_ longer, my friend,” she said, “I have a family on E! to introduce you to.” 

“Ch—” Before Beca could protest to the events that were planned in her very presence without her thoughts being consulted once, there was snapping and shouting and a flurry of people that signalled an end to whatever pseudo-break they were in the middle of receiving (er, being robbed of). 

“Awes,” Chloe answered, completely ignoring the panic and lack of positive interest in Chloe’s plans. 

“We have another twelve hour tomorrow th–”

“Right,” Chloe said simply. She was standing now, holding her hand out to Beca to help her too. “Which means you gotta tell Jesse he’ll have _another_ girl on his couch tonight.” 

“Misery loves company, huh?” Beca said, replaying their first conversation of the day over in her head. Chloe shook her head, tapping Beca lightly on the shoulder. 

“More like, traveling the city at night isn’t a thing I want to do,” she said, “And also easy travel tomorrow morning. And also if I stay at your place, that increases the chances of funny business.”

Beca choked, even though she wasn’t eating or drinking anything. The air swept in too quick, bulleted by Chloe’s words, and it took Chloe’s laugh and a hand slapping against her back halfheartedly for her to catch her breath. 

“I’m _joking_ , Becs,” Chloe said when Beca finally calmed down. A small, breathy chuckle and a shake of her head was enough to seem victorious, and Beca struggled to contain her grumble. “You’re too easy,” she shouted over her shoulder, walking towards where the crew was huddled. 

There were few people around to hear the comment, but it was certainly enough, and Beca blushed under the stare of them before scoffing and trying to communicate apathy. 

“Easy”. Yeah. Great. Because _that_ was a nickname she wanted to spread. 

It was then that she realized just how long tomorrow would seem in contrast to today, and she decided she _might_ have to warn Chloe that crying would be a thing that night - not because of any overwhelming emotion, but just because morning meant early morning, which meant long days, which meant her here, blushing, and hating everyone in the room more by the minute except for one girl, standing in the kitchenette popping grapes in her mouth. 

Definitely had to warn of tears. 

Exhaustion and emotion don’t blend too beautifully together, unfortunately. Even if it was Beca self-proclaimed aesthetic. 

 

\--

 

They traveled back on the last subway train, with Beca so tired that her head couldn’t stand to be held up by her neck. Chloe held in her lap the cheap bag of bagels they managed to pick up from the “Day Old” shelf at the local bakery, and she spent most of the train ride telling Beca about something her brother said when he called a day before. 

“He was drunk,” she said, “On a _Wednesday_! Which is ridiculous, but, you know, his wife only likes him to go out one night a week so it makes sense….” 

Her voice trailed on and on over the _thump thump_ of the tracks, setting the pace of Beca’s breathing so that she could, with every inhalation, let go of the stress of the day. There was the broken extension cord, and the actor that showed up late, and the camera that wasn’t working the first few takes - one million tiny “problems” that had piled onto her shoulders to build a capital-T Tired. She pressed her nose against Chloe’s shoulder, breathing in the scent against the harsh, strange, stale scent of the subway car. 

“You alright there, missy?” 

“Tired,” Beca grumbled, and Chloe laughed, patting Beca’s head lightly. 

“You’re almost home.” She continued to tell her story after that, with occasional pauses for Beca’s snorts and cackles in the appropriate places. She wasn’t even aware that she had fallen halfway asleep until Chloe nudged her lightly and shifted to stand. 

The walk from the station to Jesse’s apartment was too long for the biting cold, but Chloe’s arm was linked in hers, and when she laughed, Beca felt like she was warm. Literally, figuratively, very clearly _warm_. 

She couldn’t tell if it was the exhaustion from the day or the presence of Chloe, or the promise of half-stale bagels, but she felt like she was drunk. Or that she might as well be. 

“Fuck,” she muttered when she searched for her keys at the base of the apartment building. “I didn’t, like, _tell_ Jesse….”

“Tough,” Chloe tugged on Beca’s arm and hummed. “Besides, we’re bringing dinner.”

“At, like, two in the morning?” 

Chloe shrugged to the click of the door, which opened promptly. “It’s a good thing you work out,” Beca said as she started walking up the steps, “Because these stairs are…”

“You’re just a wimp,” Chloe joked, racing ahead a few steps. 

“ _Excuse_ me?” 

Chloe giggled, jumping up more steps. “You’re a wimp,” she said, “What’re you going to do about it?” 

Beca pursed her lips, shaking her head, but she didn’t race up the steps, knowing better than Chloe not to use up all her energy on the first floor. By the time they reached the third, Chloe was slightly more flushed, but keeping up an impossible pace. So by the time they reached Jesse’s floor, Beca’s lips were white, and she was very clearly out of breath. Chloe, though, was just huffing lightly, smiling. 

“After you, madame,” she said, gesturing towards the door. With an eyebrow raised, Beca opened the door to find Jesse positioned on the couch, paperwork spread out over the coffee table. 

“You better not have been farting all over my bed over there, Jess,” she said to the sound of the door slamming against the wall. Jesse looked up, smiling and shaking his head. 

“Only for you, _Baby.”_

 _“_ Gross.” 

“Friend?” 

Beca spun around to the tone of Jesse’s question, facing Chloe, who was standing in the doorway fondling the keys left on the rack. “Howdy,” she said, throwing out a wave. “Futon for two tonight.” 

“You’re bringing girls home now?” Jesse said, standing up. His tone was light. Airy. And while the comment could’ve been uncomfortable, the side grin that he offered was classically Jesse. 

“Well I can’t be the _first,”_ Chloe joked, “With a player like Beca over here.” 

“Shut up,” Beca grumbled, scratching her forehead. “You both suck.” 

“And yet, here we are, bonded by your presence,” Jesse said, throwing his paper down on the coffee table. “To what do I owe the pleasure….?”

“Chloe,” Chloe offered up, holding her hand out. “Work friend, angel of a human - though some say puppy–”

“Definitely puppy,” Beca piped in. 

Her mind, though, spoke up immediately in the opposite direction. She was spiteful of every part of herself that was realizing “angel” might be a touch more accurate at this point. 

“Here to introduce your flatmate to the Kardashians.” 

“The Kardashians, eh?” Jesse said with an even wider grin. “Well…this is certainly interesting.” 

“I feel like she’s got this secret reality-star-trash in her,” Chloe said. “A few drinks’ll bring it out.” 

“I said the same thing about movies,” Jesse commented. “But we’ll see how well you do.” 

“Bagels, Jess?” Beca asked, dropping her coat to the floor and kicking the bag over to the boy. 

“No no no no no,” Jesse said quickly. “I’m not dumb. I will just make a semi-undramatic exit and let you guys….do….you.” 

“Je–”

“Eh! No questions!” Jesse said, holding his hands up. “I gotchu, girl.”

“That’s no–”

Chloe was laughing, trying her best to cover it up with a hand over her mouth though it wasn’t doing much at the moment. 

“Say no more,” he said, easily understanding and picking up on the discomfort being sent off in waves by Beca. “I’ve got earbuds.”

“Jesse!” Beca hissed, this time leaving no qualms about the way she felt about what Jesse was saying. She was blushing profusely - something she absolutely _despised_ about her face in the current moment. When she looked over to Chloe, she was shaking in all her held-in laughter, though her cheeks were slightly red too. 

This was very much a fact that was not lost on Beca in the split second of that moment. 

“Sorry about that,” Beca said, clearing out space on the couch. “And about him…and all of this.”

“You’re fine,” Chloe said, still laughing. 

“He just….we just…We’re….”

“It’s cute,” she said, “You two. And the whole ‘still friends’ thing. Noble.” 

“Shut up,” Beca grumbled. She settled into the couch, though the slump of the cushion created by Jesse’s permanent position there made her slip closer to Chloe accidentally. The redhead embraced it, wrapping an arm around Beca and squeezing. 

She pulled up her computer easily, without needed to shift, and handed it over to Chloe after typing in a password. 

She didn’t know when, exactly, she fell asleep. At the very least, she had made it through a torn piece of a bagel and had watched enough to know that there were numerous black-haired women involved in this television show, all with admirable makeup techniques. When she thought back on them in the morning, though, they were blurred with the squinty-eyes of sleep, and Beca was nearly positive that the second Chloe pressed play, she started to drift off. 

It was at that point in time that she began to realize it wasn’t Chloe and her words, her behaviors, or her habit of constantly checking in on Beca when she was tired that kept Beca awake and wired. It was just….Chloe. Chloe and her scent, the way she breathed when she sighed so that it was small hum, and the fact that when she was done talking, she would run her finger up and down Beca’s arm. 

She was grateful in that moment for Chloe in this way, beyond the overwhelming amount of fear she was feeling about this situation and her attachment. Because what had kept her awake all day was currently letting her fall asleep rapidly, despite her low affinity for cuddling or reality shows on E!. 

She hummed slightly when she started to fall asleep - a sound that was partially unintentional, and Chloe met it with an equally as contented sigh. 

“See you in the morning,” Chloe said softly at the exact second Beca closed her eyes. 

And this time, the prospect of tomorrow didn’t seem so bad. 


	247. Fluffy Tree Decorations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Beca and Chloe dancing and singing/messing around in their living room while putting up the Christmas tree. So pretty much just major fluff 

They weren’t really allowed to be sober whilst putting up the Christmas tree.

Not that that was, like, an Official Rule in the Book of Christmas Traditions, but it might as well have been. Because as much as Chloe _loved_ Christmas, there was something so daunting about putting up the tree that always left her sitting on the carpet with plastic branches scattered out around her. 

And Beca….well, because was down to get drunk before holiday festivities most of the time, largely due to the fact that they were…like… _holiday festivities._ She wasn’t raised in an Irish-American household for nothing. 

So it was kind of their _thing_ to break out the first batch of Mrs. Beale’s famous eggnog, flip on some _terrible_ acapella Christmas performances, and yell at the computer screen until at least one of them was two glasses in. (There was, for the record, a lot to should about. Routines, choreography, _skill_ …they just didn’t make acapella teams the way Barden made theirs. Besides…oversized red button downs that ballooned at the waist _weren’t a style_. They were a uniform.) 

“So,” Chloe said after Beca had poured her second glass. “It’s your turn to tell Santa what you want.” 

“Don’t turn this into some kinky shit,” Beca grumbled into her glass, and Chloe gaped at her. “What? Naughty or nice? Sit on Santa’s lap? We’re adults. Not referencing Santa would be a safe route for both of us.” 

“What _ever_ ,” Chloe hummed, spinning around at her barstool. “The point is I want to get you the best gift ever s–”

“So if you knew me at _all_ , you’d know I could never ask for what I want,” Beca said, biting the inside of her cheek. 

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth a shot,” Chloe drawled. She sighed dramatically, leaning her body over the countertop. “Whatever shall I get you?” 

Beca reached out, poking Chloe’s side and making her squeak surprisedly, jumping back up. “I could think of a few things.” 

With that, she was closing the laptop, standing with her glass of eggnog to dance into the other room with carols not yet playing. “What does _that_ mean, Beca Mitchell?” Chloe asked, following her and grabbing at the brunette’s waist, almost picking her up in the action. Beca grunted, kicking slightly, and with a giggle Chloe let her down. 

“It means, let’s do the tree,” Beca said quickly. She spun around, out of Chloe’s grasp, and moved towards the branches. “How does this thing work again?” 

It was, suffice to say, around this point that both girls would regret drinking ever year. Because if the tree wasn’t easy to set up sober, it wasn’t much easier when they were drunk. 

It was, though, less intimidating, which was why Chloe jumped down to where Beca was sitting and joined her in trying to fit random branches into the hole at the base of the trunk. Halfway through, Chloe realized she hadn’t started the music, and by the time she returned, she was accompanied by more eggnog. 

To be fair, a lot of time had passed between starting the tree and getting halfway done. They had all but sobered up, and judging by the look on Beca’s face, were nearing naptime. 

“Up up up,” Chloe said, nudging Beca’s chin. “Some of the goods….” She tilted the drink to feed Beca, and, with a wry grin, Beca followed with the action, ending with an eggnog mustache. 

“You’re such a geek,” she said, shaking her head. Chloe reached out, wiping the mustache off with her thumb and licking it. 

“I know.” 

With that, they resumed, occasionally stopping for a special Mariah Carey dance-party, so that by the end of the afternoon they were red in the face, hair in several different directions, plastic evergreen scattered over themselves and the carpet, with a tree that leaned suspiciously to the left. 

“We did something wrong,” Beca pouted. She was, I feel the need to point out, significantly drunker at this point in the day, and nearly ready for a nap that lasted at least twenty-four hours. 

Chloe patted Beca’s back, pulling her close to examine the tree. “Maybe it’s the imperfections that make it perfect.” 

Beca rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Okay, Tolstoy.” 

“Low blow!” Chloe squealed, slapping Beca lightly on the shoulder. The other girl stuck out her tongue, bouncing right into the cushions of the couch and burying herself there. “I mean it, best tree goes to this year by far.” 

“It’s plastic and I think it’s still turning brown somehow,” Beca said into the cushions, her smile widening. Chloe sat down next to her, running her hand in circles on the other girl’s back. 

“It’s _beautiful_.” 

“ _You’re_ beautiful,” Beca slurred, and Chloe laughed, though there wasn’t much that was funny about it. 

“No _you_ are.” 

“N’you,” Beca grumbled, head even more buried in the pillow. “Dn’t look a’me. Mm blushing.” 

“Why’re you blushing,” Chloe pried, her finger poking into Beca’s side to get her to move off of the cushion. 

“Because I’m _drunk_ ,” Beca said, her head spinning slightly. “And so there’s three of you, and you’re all telling me I’m pretty.” 

“You _are_ ,” Chloe said through giggles, which Beca caught. 

“Shhhhh,” Beca said, holding her hand up to Chloe’s lips. “I wanna admire our tree now.” 

“Okay, Becs,” Chloe answered around Beca’s finger. She leaned back, pulling the other girl with her so that her head was in Chloe’s lap. “Let’s appreciate our art.” 


	248. Thinking OUTSIDE the box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gah! I loved the story! You wrote it perfectly! Alright so prompt #2: Person A did that thing where it's a box inside a box inside a box and Person B is getting annoyed because of all the boxes until they get to the last box and see it's a small one with a bow on it that's only big enough for a ring. - MO Anon — sent by anonymous

“Bec _aaaa_ ,” Chloe sang suspiciously after she opened the third box. Beca looked at her, zipping her lips closed and moving to refill her coffee mug. 

She wasn’t too worried about missing anything. Chloe was about to be occupied for a short while. 

It was cruel, really, and if Beca had to be honest she’d admit this. Because Chloe _lived_ for presents in a way that was truly adorable - it was one of Beca’s favorite things about her, actually, because even though Beca herself hated getting gifts she loved to give them…the kind of random, middle of the day gifts that are unexpected and just remind Chloe that she was thinking about her at some point during the very recent past. So when Chloe noticed that Beca, who never woke up past noon on a _good_ day, was up and practically shaking by seven a.m., she hopped out of bed and walked into the living room, punctuating her very short wake-up routine with a prompt scream. 

“Is there a _house_ in there?!” Chloe squealed when she saw the box, which was just the trash from when they’d bought the dishwasher they just installed, wrapped according to Aubrey standards. She nearly _attacked_ the packaging, racing into the kitchen for scissors and only finding her keys, tearing and ripping the cardboard until there was only shreds left over. From there, she just squealed again, running in place, as she examined the second box, which was left over from a small speaker system at work. 

All the while, Beca stood in the doorway, arms crossed, biting the inside of her cheek. If she was _smart,_ she would’ve filmed it, making it a viral video within _seconds_ of uploading. 

She was smart, to be fair, she just wasn’t so…economical. Besides, she had had three cups of coffee to “calm” herself down last night (the logic is flawed, she’s well-aware) and she was shaking by morning, so logic and reason and financial strategy wasn’t the first thing on her mind. 

Chloe opened the third box to reveal a much smaller one, and it was at this point that Beca’s stomach swooped down to her knees. She hadn’t made it to the ring yet, thank god, but she was getting close, and this was getting real, and there was just something to the whole game that held anticipation for _both_  of them. 

 _“_ I swear to gosh, Becs,” Chloe muttered when she opened the last set, only big enough for the palm of Beca’s hand. “If you got me ‘the air from your lungs’…”

 _“Relax_ ,” Beca chided, stepping further into the room. “You’re almost down. Sheesh, if I knew you were this impatient…”

 _“_ If you knew I was this impatient what?” Chloe asked, quickly turning around with a strand of wrapping paper dangling from her hand. 

 _“_ What?” 

 _“_ You said if you knew I  was this impatient….”

 _“_ No I didn’t,” Beca said quickly. Her cheeks were getting red - she _felt_ it, and feeling it only made them get redder quicker - so she pointed to the final box and wagged her finger. “Just open it…” 

The amount of time Chloe took to open the first box versus the box now really and rationally would’ve been drastically different. One was a giant cardboard box, the other was just a bit of wrapping paper. But Beca _felt_ like it had been a lightyear since Chloe started, and she could hear the script of what she was going to say being rehearse at least five times before Chloe _screamed_ (not squealed this time) and dropped the box on the floor in shock. 

 _“_ Okay, so, uh, this was expensive,” Beca said, slipping down to the ground to pick up the ring. “Not throwing it on the ground would be good.” 

 _“_ Sorry,” Chloe breathed. She was already crying, tears perched at the edges of her eyes, and when Beca looked up from where she was crouched to get the ring, she realized how high Chloe’s voice had gotten. 

 _“_ It puts me in the right position at least, right?” Beca joked, moving so that one knee was propped up. She fiddled with the ring, holding it close to her chest. “So here is where I spew a lot of nonsense about how you were able to dig through all my layers to find the real me or whatever.” 

Chloe slapped her lightly on the shoulder and she shrugged. “I know that‘s not romantic, I can do better. You’re the gift that keeps on giving?” 

“You’re comparing me to an all-you-can-eat buffet,” Chloe quipped, and Beca raised an eyebrow. 

“Inaccurate or…?”

“Beca!” 

“Right, sorry. Proposal,” she shook her head, trying to gain attention once more. “The point is, I’m not good at this. At any of this. Like life, or romance, or cute stuff. But….um…You and all your ear-splitting screams kinda make me want to be. So I know it’s a holiday, and it’s your favorite holiday, but I thought I’d let you know that every day is a holiday with you….”

“Beca….” Chloe sighed, and the brunette grinned, still not looking up from the ring. 

“I knew you’d fall for that one,” she said, earning another slap from Chloe. “Ow, yeesh. It’s not too late to take back the ring….”

“No!” Chloe said quickly. “No, that would be…that would be wasteful.” 

“Wasteful, mmmhmmm,” Beca smiled, “And the box inside a box inside a box thing….”

“Was recycling, obviously,” Chloe said. She then pointed back to the ring. “You gonna put that on me or…?” 

“That depends on whether you say yes.” 

“You haven’t asked yet, technically,” Chloe said, giggling. She was still teary-eyed, though the banter helped lessen the screeching that was her voice when she was crying. 

“Shit, right,” Beca grumbled. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at Chloe, holding out the ring. She wasn’t positive, but she thought that the way it sparkled was based on the reflection of Chloe’s eyes. “Chloe Beale, will you marry me?” 

It doesn’t take much of a sleuth to know that Chloe Beale said yes. Not, of course, until after screaming, squealing, jumping up and down, and _actively_ pulling Beca up off her knees to kiss her. Those moments in between the question and the answer weren’t nerve-wracking for Beca, though. They were frustrating, admittedly, because _damn_ that viral video would’ve been _golden_ , but other than that….

…Beca didn’t have many words to describe what it was like whatever your dream come true. She assumed it was kinda like how people felt when they were watching Christmas movies - both strange and familiar and warm and hot all at the same time. 

Which was all sweet and well and good, but Chloe still broke away from the kiss following her emphatic yes with a slight frown on her face. 

“Was that my only present or….? Cuz I just opened a _lot_ of boxes and this thing doesn’t have _that many_ uses,” she said, staring at the ring from where it sat on her hand. Beca wrapped her fingers around it, pulling Chloe back in for a kiss and stopping just as their noses touched. 

“You’re the worst,” she said quietly, shaking her head. Chloe’s finger made it’s way to Beca’s lips, stopping her speech. 

“I believe you mean to say, ‘I’m the wife’.” 


	249. The One Where Chloe Understands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've noticed that a lot of the prompts are about Beca accepting the inevitability of Christmas, so I wanted to go the other way: Beca doesn't do Christmas. She just doesn't feel it. But she could get through it if only the Bella's weren't pushing it on her at every opportunity. None of them seem to get it. But Chloe... Chloe just sits with her, and lets her breathe. — sent by anonymous

Chloe knew the way Beca operated. She knew every twitch, every sneeze, every grimace and grin, and it was something that she tended to pride herself on when she thought on the rare occasion that she might’ve said something wrong or induced some mental snap in Beca to boost her confidence in the position of Best Friend. 

So it wasn’t hard to recognize the shift in Beca when the month of December hit. Like she was suddenly hit by an avalanche, there was an added slump to Beca’s shoulders and a pull to the bags under her eyes that was _more_ than simple grumpiness. And while Beca was pretty close-lipped about her childhood, it became clear to Chloe that there was something about red and green and the combination thereof that weighed her down. Every second of every day in that particular season was spent looking like she was just trying to…well, get by. 

The other Bellas made it a kind of game. Or a means of mocking Beca, at the very least. She was the Grinch, the Scrooge, and if they could tease Beca into wearing a Santa hat, well, it seemed like the funniest prank in the world. But Chloe, being Chloe, Best Friend Extraordinaire, saw the strain of these moments written like the sound of nails on a chalkboard across Beca’s face. 

“Hey,” she said, knocking lightly on the side of the doorway. The Bellas were downstairs - it was the night they decorated the tree, same as every year, and drunken croons of “White Christmas” were wafting their way upstairs. “I made cookies.” 

Beca grimaced slightly, scratching the side of her forehead without moving her eyes away from her computer screen. 

“They’re not…” Chloe started, deciding to just slide the plate over. “They’re just oatmeal chocolate chip. Your favorite, plain and simple.” 

The sound of Beca’s sigh reverberated off the walls. There was a line in the bedroom, invisible but ever-present, between Amy’s side and hers. The Australian had decided this year to put her Christmas sweaters to good use, hanging them on every available surface as a sort of easy decoration. Beca’s side was stark in comparison, walls white with the exception of the bulletin board Chloe always enjoyed covering up. It looked almost like Beca was afraid to step on the other side. Like it was going to burn her or kick her out or some combination of the two. 

She looked down at the plate, taking the single earbud out of her ear. “Thanks,” she said, and Chloe nearly crumbled at the exhaustion written behind it all. She sat on the edge of the bed, scooting back when Beca didn’t tell her to leave. “Why aren’t you downstairs? You love this shit.” 

“I know,” Chloe chirped. With her computer tilted slightly, Beca was now fully looked at Chloe, eyes boring into her, and Chloe leaned against the wall, patting the space next to her. Beca listened, to Chloe’s surprise, slipping right under her arm and resting a head against Chloe’s shoulder. “There are things more important than decorating the tree.” 

“I thought tradition was ‘essential’,” Beca quipped, quoting Aubrey, who had said that the first year Beca was a Bella and was forced to go to the tree-decorating session. 

“Well, yeah, but think about the _priority_ of traditions,” Chloe said, “It’s a hierarchy.” 

“Oh really?” 

“Sure,” Chloe said, grinning. “Tradition number one is that thing where I’m always, like, the _best_ best friend that any girl could ask for.” 

“Is that the top tradition?” Beca asked. Amusement was sneaking in her voice, and she lifted her head slightly to make eye contact with Chloe. The redhead was grinning at the way animation seemed to jump back into Beca’s face. 

“Always primo,” she said with a nod. Beca settled back down, pulling her legs up to be close to her chest. The action pushed Chloe to squeeze her shoulder once, sighing.

“This tradition happens all year though,” Beca said quietly. “That thing downstai—”

“ _You’re_ not downstairs,” Chloe clarified. “And you don’t want to be downstairs. Those are two perfectly good reasons for me to not want to be down there either.” 

Beca started to argue, opening her mouth and letting a small croak out, but Chloe interrupted her before she had the chance. 

“I want to just sit here,” she said, “With you, if that’s okay.” 

That, Chloe thought, was always the key. The kicker. The way this whole thing with Beca always worked. 

Because if there was one thing central to the way Beca operated, it was the inability to ask for the things she would most want. Things like being able to veto an activity that made her uncomfortable without having to explain why, exactly, it made her uncomfortable. Things like wanting to sit with her best friend in silence for a little bit, so that the weight could be evenly distributed again. Things like trying to find that equilibrium once more. 

So Chloe always took what she knew Beca wanted, and she asked for it herself. She found most of the time that what Beca wanted was what she wanted too - either because if it was something Beca wanted, it was something that would make her feel better, or because Beca tended to want things that Chloe never realized she wanted for herself in the first place. Tonight in particular, the reason was both of the above. 

She hadn’t known it, but she _was_ tired. She _was_ weighted. She needed a time to unfurl the muscles that had wound themselves so tightly, and she needed a time to sit in one place. She needed to breathe, and judging by Beca’s silence, the brunette needed this too. 

Thus, it was never a big sacrifice to say out loud what she knew Beca wanted to say herself. In fact, it tended to work out well for her. 

“That’s fine,” Beca answered quietly. She yawned, trying to stifle it slightly, and Chloe chuckled again. 

She wasn’t sure Beca had slept in days, and she was too afraid to ask. 

Scooting further down the wall she was leaning against, she left her feet go straight in front of her and leaned her own head on Beca’s. 

“Thanks for checking in,” Beca said quietly, in a way that implied sleep might be close enough for the both of them. Chloe hummed in response. Her eyelids were heavy too. 

“Thanks for letting me.” 


	250. Cheesy Christmas Sleepover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hopping on the Christmas prompt train! Bellas have a slumber party on the night before Christmas break since they'll all be heading home for the holidays. They watch cheesy Christmas movies, bake cookies, sting popcorn, the whole nine yards. As the night dies down they all share their favorite Christmas memories. Beca's actually makes her all emotional and as they're falling asleep Chloe snuggles up to her and says just the right thing. Beca thinks that now she may have a new favorite memory. — sent by i-am-hidden33

She wasn’t sure how she was roped into this. 

Not “this” as in the current state she was in, covered in gingerbread house caulk and sprinkles and donning a santa hat that was making her hairline itch. 

More like “this” as in this willing and active participation in such festivities as a result of a desire to fit absolutely as much Bella bonding time in as possible before they all had to leave for a few weeks. 

Of course, if she admitted that she was taking part in the holiday activities because she was afraid of all the time they were going to have to spend away from each other - three weeks, in fact - she would immediately followed up that confession with some form of a bow, claiming it was a hilarious impression of Chloe was that _not at all sincere_. Because, really, it was three weeks, and Beca lived with these girls every other month of the year. Besides the fact that she _really_ wasn’t a big fan of expressing how much she loved these girls. 

She actually preferred the Bellas hypothesis that she went on this whole endeavor because of some unspoken inability to let Chloe down (which was already half true in the first place). It was less…harmful to her reputation. 

Regardless, Beca was now elbow deep in the process of building a gingerbread house, grunting furiously at the fact that it _just wouldn’t stay together_ and trying to ignore the copious pictures being taken of her getting bit by the “holi _gay_ bug” (the patent to that one was going to Fat Amy, who spent most quality Bella bonding times shipping Bloe to an unhealthy degree). 

“I hate you, you know,” she grumbled when Chloe propped her up on the highest rung of the ladder to string the lights around the banister. The redhead’s hands were on her hips, supporting her, and occasionally they would poke and prod, making Beca lose balance with an undignified squeal. 

“You _love_ me,” Chloe countered, giggling. “And you _love_ this. Admit it.” 

Finishing the last of the strings, Beca crouched down to start getting back to safe, solid ground. “Bah humbug?” 

“ _Not_ convincing.” 

By the end of the night, Chloe had texted her mom for the famous Beale eggnog (which, apparently, had the power to knock Mr. Beale out so intensely that one particularly painful year he swore off alcohol on _New Years_ for the entire house because the sight of it was too damaging), and the Bellas had started creating their own Christmas carols with Beca performing on the spot mashups between batches of cookies. Thus, once the house died down and the fireplace was turned on (note to the reader: do _not_ let eight drunk girls try to light a fireplace for the first time ever. Just…don’t), carols muted, the girls sat in a circle and performed their traditional drunk ritual: spilling their guts out in vaguely sentimental ways and choosing to actively ignore the cliched nature of it all. 

“Alright, okay, _so_ ,” Chloe said, hands out to silence the chatter. “Christmas memories. Go.” 

“I’ve got it,” Emily said quickly, raising her hand. Chloe, who could still drink with the best of them, noticed the age difference between herself and the youngest Bella the most with a few cups of alcohol in her. Where all Chloe _really_ wanted was to snuggle up and sleep, Emily, without fail, was _jumping_ at the chance of activity. 

It would be cute if it weren’t so…overwhelming.

“My mom had all the old Bellas over when I was, like, six, and they got drunk enough to perform the entire nutcracker with _their mouths_ ,” she said quickly, ending by responding to her own story with a silent jaw on the ground. 

“That sounds hella gay,” Cynthia Rose said, “And I should know.” 

“That’s my mom,” Emily argued, her eyebrows furrowing. 

“Yeah? And? She was a Bella, Legacy…” Stacie said, clinking her glass with Cynthia Rose as if the argument was over. “My turn.” 

The rest of the Bellas shifted their eyes to Stacie, who sat up a touch straighter to tell her story. “Me and Santa…”

“Oh no,” Cynthia Rose said, “I’m out if you’re about to say what I think you are…”

“Not, like, the 100 year old Santa that delivers gifts to kids, no, ew,” Stacie said, wincing. “Just this hot guy that got hired to play him at the mall. He showed me his sleigh in the bathroom of the food court–”

“Anyone else?” Beca asked quickly. She wasn’t a _big_ fan of being the….less explicit…member of the Bellas, but there were images that she just didn’t want to see, and she’d sacrifice her already thin reputation of Super Comfortable With All Things Sex in favor of being able to look at every mall Santa without imagining his…sleigh. 

“’Twas a good night for me,” Stacie finished, mumbling. Beca rolled her eyes. Chloe finished her eggnog, wiping off the mustache that remained, and bumped Beca’s shoulders. 

“The first year I knew there wasn’t a Santa,” she started, “I was about ten years old. My mom was convinced I didn’t know a thing, but she knew I was getting close to finding out, so she went through all these crazy lengths to keep it hidden…she rented a garage to keep the presents in so I wouldn’t find them and…” Chloe shook her head, laughing. “So, that year things were bad with my parents, and, I dunno, I thought if she _really_ wanted me to believe….” She sighed. “That year I asked that they stop fighting. Whatever. That Christmas morning was the only Christmas my dad stayed home for, and the whole time they were just… _glowing_. It was just a silly thing for me, but when that happened….” Looking at Beca, Chloe rolled her eyes at her own story, embarrassed. “I kinda believed in Santa for three more years after that. Which made junior high hard.” 

Beca smiles, long and slow, and despite the teasing that’s coming from the other Bellas, it was that kind of genuine attention that made Chloe blush, sticking out her tongue and shaking her head to wipe away whatever was swelling in her chest. She reached for Beca’s drink, finishing it in one gulp, and handed the cup back to Beca with a pointed look. “Your turn.” 

“Great,” Beca grumbled. She looked around at the other Bellas, realizing the circle was all connected by some intertwining of limbs. “The first year I was at Barden, um….Well you guys know how much I hated it. Except for…” she gestured around the circle, “You nerds. You kinda kept me sane. So when I went home for the holidays…It was weird, you know? Everything felt like…wrong or something. Whatever. Anyway…Christmas kinda really sucked, my grandma kept saying shit and my mom kept arguing with her, and then there was this holiday party with the step-family where they didn’t even ask me to be in the group picture….It wasn’t on purpose, it was just…um…” she paused, looking up. “The point was that it sucked. And I sort of realized then that the only thing that didn’t suck that bad was you guys. Which was cool. And stuff. I guess.” 

And whatever exchange of genuine emotion passed between Beca and Chloe when Chloe told her story passed again when Beca finished, complete with a squeeze of the hand that made Beca feel like there was potential for crying. From herself or from Chloe, she didn’t really know. 

Either way, when they all crawled into the pile of blanket they’d set out for that night, Chloe, unsurprisingly, forced her way next to Beca, in a space right by Lilly that was hardly big enough for a body. Finally settling in (Chloe was like a dog - she had to circle and circle around a spot until she could be content enough to lie down), she poked Beca lightly on the nose. 

“That was the night we skyped,” Chloe said quietly, and Beca’s eyes flashed open. 

“What?” 

“That first Christmas,” Chloe explained. “You texted me to Skype, and I was so surprised that you even _wanted_ to, because I thought –”

“I missed you most,” Beca said, passing it off as the most simple thing in the world. “And I didn’t really think I was going to make it until New Years without at least getting a _dose_ of you.” 

“Beca,” Chloe said, tutting, but Beca just pulled her blankets up to her chin, hiding her grin. 

“It’s not a big deal,” she huffed, “I don’t even like you that much.” 

Chloe reached out, tugging at the blankets slightly. “I’ve got a feeling you care more than you let on.” 

“And when was the first time you realized that, Sherlock?” 

“When you skyped me that night, of course,” Chloe grinned. “Share some blanket?” 

“You have, like, fifteen,” Beca argued, but Chloe just pouted, whining slightly. 

“None of them are _yours_ though,” she said. Beca rolled her eyes, throwing the blanket mindlessly over the other girl and scooting closer to get the same warmth. 

Chloe hummed contently. 

It was, Beca thought, almost perfect. Enough to break through the monotony of the break that loomed before them, though she was sure their tradition of Christmas skype would _have_ to continue this year. 

She thought, then, that with Chloe beginning to snore - Chloe _snored_? - under Beca’s arm, that she was a little tipsy. And this was a little fun. And that maybe, just maybe, this was her new favorite memory. The one that would carry her through to the New Year. 

She didn’t think, though, about the fact that the only two Christmas memories she felt anything positive about had a certain redhead staring the main role. That would just be something she obsessed about back home. 


	251. Snow Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright so the first one is: All the Bellas are decorating the outside of the house but quickly turns into all of them playing in the snow. Person A tackles Person B and is currently pinning them and they're just smiling and staring at each other...I'll let you continue it from there. - MO Anon — sent by anonymous

Beca didn’t like the outside. 

Not even in the slightest, because, the way she saw it, windows existed for a reason. If she wanted nature, she just had to _look_ at it. Behind glass. Where she could be warm. 

So the task of dragging her out to do the lights was a brave and challenging one that took every single Bella walking into her room and hanging out in it wordlessly until Beca was driven out of the safety of her desk and literally _chased_ out the door - having mittens and her jacket thrown at her on the way. 

If anyone asked Chloe, that would be the achievement of the day - getting Beca up and out enough to hang up lights and decorate the one tree that sat outside her bedroom window. She would’ve never dreamed that they would made to get Beca to _touch_ the snow let alone actively run through it away from snowballs or towards the snow versions of John and Gail that Emily, Stacie, and Amy were making. 

She guessed it was just so that the girl could have an excuse for hot chocolate and a lot of complaining later that day. This, she felt, was a perfectly reasonable payment for what she was forcing Beca to do. Not that it really felt like forcing, because after Amy threw the first snowball bravely into the back of Beca’s head, everything seemed rather willful. In fact, Chloe would’ve deemed Beca’s participation in the snow fight to be downright passionate, right down to the moment she grabbed the hem of Emily’s pants and stuffed snow right down it (Emily had to go inside for thirty minutes to clean up after that one). 

How they got _here_ though, was mostly a fluffy white sanctioned blur that Chloe would never be able to completely analyze when she was in her hot shower thinking back on it. Because Beca was currently sitting on top of her, arms at either side of Chloe’s head, grinning like wild with cheeks as pink as rudolph’s nose. 

“Got you,” she breathed, her smile widening. Chloe weakly fought against the pinning, but knew it was a lost cause and gave in with a small whimper. “You gotta say it,” Beca said when she realized Chloe had surrendered fighting. 

Chloe wasn’t in control of much higher level thinking at this point, because Beca was breathing _very heavily ON_ her, and the suggestions that her mind flashed with both surprised her into silence and embarrassed her into oblivion. 

This, she thought, was a very bad way to realize you’re sexually attracted to your best friend. 

So she didn’t say anything, and Beca assumed it was an act of rebellion against her clear victory, so she looked at Chloe with an eyebrow raised and lifted her mitten off slowly, wiggling her fingers as they were uncovered. “That’s totally fine,” she said nonchalantly. “I’ll just have to use a different weapon.” 

And now, what was an achievement getting Beca outside and a surprise getting Beca to tackle her was currently just an impossible dream wherein Beca Mitchell was _tickling_ Chloe while _straddling_ her in the snow. 

And dear _God_ , her mind was cruel. And dear _God_ , her mind was dirty. And dear _God_ , Beca found her _spot,_ the one that made her shiver down to her boots. Instinctively, her hand shot to Beca’s wrist, clutching it immediately with her pincher fingers. Out of breath and incapable of saying much - if not anything at all - she just gasped, letting it out as a cackle that echoed throughout the front yard. 

“Uncle!” she finally managed to wheeze out, “ _Uncle!”_

 _“_ Ha,” Beca said shortly, holding her hands up on either side of her own head, as if claiming innocence. “I win.” 

“Um, I just got tackled and tickled by a hot acapella singer,” Chloe said, still out of breath, “ _I_ win.” 

“Hot, eh?” Beca asked, lifting up off of her knees to get off of Chloe, holding her hands out for the redhead to take once she reached standing position. 

“So hot I don’t even feel cold right now,” Chloe giggled. She was patting down her hair, trying to put her heartbeat back at it’s normal pace. (This, she was realizing, proved to be quite a challenge. Because…hot indeed. Every bare part of skin that Beca touched was _burning_ with the short term memory of where her hands had been). 

“Smooooth,” Beca sang, linking her arms with Chloe’s. The rest of the Bellas were either re-attached to the idea of decorating the house or had gone inside to take up nearly all of the hot water, leaving only the two of them to walk over the porch. 

The sun had set at some point throughout the afternoon, so there was that grey darkness that accompanied most winter nights, and Chloe was already beginning to feel the exhaustion of a day spent outside weighing on her. 

“What?” Beca asked when Chloe started giggling ridiculously, clutching her stomach and breaking apart from the brunette. 

Instead of answering, Chloe just pointed up, wiping the tears from her eyes and trying, again, to catch her breath. 

Beca looked up, seeing what Chloe was laughing at, and when she returned her gaze, she didn’t respond to the sudden outburst. Instead, she just walked closer to where Chloe had separated to laugh, and holding onto Chloe’s elbows to keep her giggling in, she straightened the redhead’s stance. 

“On the count of three?” 

Chloe, pursing her lips, just nodded. 

“One,” she said, taking another step to close the gap between them. 

“Two,” Chloe answered, her voice high and breathless. 

The three was swallowed up by more important activities, of course. 

And if Chloe had to look back on her day, she would’ve seen getting Beca out of the house as an achievement. She would’ve seen getting Beca to play in the snow as a shock. She would’ve seen convincing Beca to _tackle_ and _tickle_ her as an impossible dream. 

But making her fall for the ol’ mistletoe trick? 

That, my friends, was nothing short of a victory. 

If anyone asked, _she_ , in fact, had won. 


	252. Poorly Timed Texts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt- The bellas, or a bella, sees a text on becas phone from chloe. Either asking her something along the lines of being her girlfriend or they're already together and just it's just chloe being chloe. And they didn't know they were a thing. -surgery anon, when ever you get to it darling x — sent by anonymous

Chloe Beale had a lot of things. A killer voice. A smile that artists couldn’t come close to replicating. Hair that Ariel would be jealous of. 

She, however, lacked good timing. In general.  

If Beca got a job promotion every time she told Chloe that, she would’ve been living in the center of LA in her _choice_ of ridiculously priced real estate instead of sitting in a “School Transportation” van between Amy (who had just eaten from the very same Tex-Mex establishment that had provided the ammo for her burrito wound Freshman year) and Emily, who had legs so long she (rightfully) took up most of the space in the middle seat. 

Chloe was sitting in passenger seat, bopping her head along to whatever was coursing through her headphones, and Cynth was driving - she was on the last half-hour of her three hour shift. 

One would think being a three-time acapella champion would give a team better funds than what could pay for this glorified taxi van, but then again, one would think that Ashley’s major in economics and position as treasurer would prevent her from spending all the Bella money on sequined penguin suits. 

Regardless, Beca was currently incapable of _thinking_ without being overheard, and after six extended hours on this trip back from the competition, not only were the girls ansty - they were also bored beyond belief. 

When she first saw the text from Chloe, she raised an eyebrow, hazarding a glance over to Chloe, who was dancing quietly as if nothing had happened at all. Still, she knew Chloe. She knew how Chloe texted, and how Chloe talked, and how Chloe _acted_ and it was pretty clear to her that caution was _always_ needed. 

_Captain of this Ship [3:47pm]: Hey you_

Beca bit her lip, shaking her head. Emily was talking to Stacie about the best place to put a giant Justin Bieber tattoo - she’d lost a game of Would You Rather - and Amy was on her way to falling asleep. Needless to say, Beca’s grin wasn’t noticed. 

_I’m literally in the same goddamned car as you, nerd_

She didn’t even really see when Chloe would’ve had the time to respond. 

_Captain of this Ship [3:49pm]: Shut up_

__Captain of this Ship [3:49pm]: Last night…_   
_

Beca held her phone closer to her face so that she was nearly cross-eyed. 

It doesn’t take a professional reader to know that the words “Last night…” weren’t exactly something other people were supposed to hear. 

The set went well yesterday, if not _extremely_ hectic, as their bus had been towed and this van was provided with _zero_ gas, meaning that they hardly had time to check into their hotel before they were set to be on stage. Chloe, despite everything about her that resembled calming seas and Disney princess songs, didn’t handle stress well when it came to the Bellas, becoming as close to Aubrey as Beca liked to ever acknowledge in moments of acute anxiety. Which meant, of course, that when the performance went off without a hitch _despite_ Chloe cracking enough to yell at the other Bellas three - count it, _three_ \- times, the redhead felt copious amounts of guilt that could only be solved by Dr. and Mrs. Beale paying via an orange PNC card for a (few) round(s) of drinks. 

Chloe had had that shaky, breathless feeling all night that she tended to get after days of high stress, and Beca watched her try to shake that away sip after sip after sip. 

They were sharing a hotel room. That wasn’t new. 

They were sharing a bed. That, also, wasn’t particularly novel. 

Even the way Chloe leaned her entire body weight on Beca to get into the room wasn’t something unusual. 

It was the slowly increasing levels of touching, eventually leading Chloe’s lips to the side of Beca’s neck and starting a trail that brought her lips to Beca’s jaw that was…well, a change of pace. 

And when Beca responded with her own _change of pace_ ….

Yeah. “Last night…” indeed. 

Beca blushed, remembering the hazy details of it and the way she woke up in the middle of the night believing it to be a dream. Chloe was out of the room before she was even conscious to the world, and every instance since then, they were surrounded. 

Beca bit her lip, fingers hovering over all the letters of all the words she wanted to say. Before she could get anything out, there was an ellipses on the other side of the conversation. Then, finally, 

_Captain of this Ship [3:52pm]: I’m not sorry_

__Captain of this Ship [3:52pm]: For the record_   
_

Beca sighed. 

_You were drunk._

_And so was I._

__Captain of this Ship [3:55pm]: Becs_   
_

___Captain of this Ship [3:55pm]: I kinda wasn’t_   
_ _

Beca covered up her breath with a cough, accidentally nudging Amy awake. The back of her neck was getting itchy, and she swore that the conversation between Emily and Stacie had gotten even louder, somehow managing to surround Beca, turning her cheeks bright pink and her vision spotty. 

If someone asked her, in that moment, what the hell was happening, she would shrug. Or, she would intend to shrug. But she would _probably_ pass out before given the opportunity. 

_What?_

It was in that moment that Chloe stopped dancing. Positioned in the front seat, she looked down at her phone, then out the window, squinting. After a moment, she took a breath and typed. 

_Captain of this Ship [3:58pm]: I don’t want you to get angry_

__Captain of this Ship [3:58pm]: Or to make this weird_   
_

__Get it out, Chlo_ _

___Captain of this Ship [4:00pm]: Last night wasn’t an accident because it’s a thing I want to do more_   
_ _

____Captain of this Ship [4:00pm]: And by more, I mean whenever the hell i want_   
_ _ _

_____Captain of this Ship [4:01pm]: If that makes sense_   
_ _ _ _

_“_ Oh. My. God.” 

Beca’s hands flew to her mouth in order to reassure herself that it wasn’t her that just said those words. 

It was, admittedly, exactly what she was thinking. In fact, if she had to chose three words to embody all of her senses in that second, it would be those. 

But she was in a car full of Bellas, and even in shock she could contain herself. Or, at least, she thought. 

It wasn’t until Chloe turned around, surprised, and Stacie snacked the phone out of Beca’s hand - all occurring in one fraction of a second - that Beca realized it wasn’t her. 

“Oh my _God_!” Stacie squealed again, bouncing up and down in her seat. Jessica, who had been sleeping, scoffed at her without question while Ashley was scooting forward, reaching to read from the phone herself. 

“What?” Emily asked, their conversation having been cut short. 

“Oh my God,” Stacie said again. 

“You’re going to have to tell us what the hell you mean,” CR said from the driver seat. She was eying Stacie from the rearview mirror. 

“These!” Stacie said, her voice a squeak. She shoved the phone in front of Amy’s face, not because others were very obviously involved, but because if anyone was going to know about this phenomenon second, it would be the second biggest Bechloe shipper and best friend extraordinaire, Amy. 

“Oh my aca-Jesus,” Amy muttered, her eyes widening. 

“Okay, give me my phone back,” Beca said, reaching for the phone. Amy threw her shoulder in the way of them, keeping Beca’s hands from where she’d extended hers. Still, she read through the texts. “Give!” 

“What’s the big deal?” Chloe asked, her voice ringing out over the ruckus. She looked impossibly innocent, cheeks pink and grin only hinting slightly at mischief (in the kind of way that Beca was certain only _she_ noticed). 

“You are,” Stacie said. Amy handed the phone over to Emily, avoiding Beca’s futile grasp easily. 

“Bloe is,” Amy corrected, earning a gasp from Ashley and Jessica behind them. 

“Oh Em Aca GEE,” Emily screamed, the phone dropping into her lap as if she lost the ability to hold it together at all. Beca used the moment to grab the phone quickly, grumbling until she was able to look up at Chloe, who’s eyes were fixed on hers. 

Bellas discovery or no, Chloe presented her with a concept. One that she’d have to answer sooner rather than later. 

Actually, more soon than sooner, even. 

“We’re not a big deal,” Chloe said, waving the air in front of her to brush off the idea. After a few minutes of confused silence, she sighed. “Stacie took away the phone before I found out if we were any kind of deal at all.” 

“Oh.” The car echoed in mutual acknowledgement of the mistake they’d made. Biting their lips, they all turned their heads slowly to Beca, who was now sitting in the middle of a cramped van, knees into chest, with eyes as wide as Chloe had ever seen them. 

“Well?” Ashley broke up the silence. It started a chorus, all begging Beca to speak up _finally_.

And, sure, this was a thing she thought about. This moment was something she never could get out of her mind. 

But she didn’t really think there was going to be an _audience_. 

Rolling her eyes, she crossed her arms, lips pursed in a cocky smile. She raised her eyebrow slowly. 

“Oh.”

“My.”

“God!” 

Stacie finished the collective cheer with an impossibly high pitched squeal. The windows had to have been made out of bulletproof glass, or something of equal strength. 

Behind Beca, Jessica and Ashley were leaning over each other, asking what that had meant, whether they were imagining things, etc. etc. It was only with Stacie’s squeal that she was aware her answer was recieved loud and clear. 

“If you propose to me at rehearsals next week via twitter, I swear to God…” 

Chloe’s smile widened immediately, stretching from ear to ear. “You’re already talking marriage? Beca Mitchell…I’ve only _just_ become your girlfriend…”


	253. Tree Decorations Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas prompt: Bechloe decorating the Christmas tree in their flat and Beca's being all moody and doesn't see the point but then ends up up loving it once the lights are on and they start putting the baubles on. Chloe's being her adorable self; singing carols, Santa hat, etc etc — sent by nottobenamed08

It’s not that she dreaded Christmas. Actually, she didn’t even _hate_ Christmas, no matter how many times Chloe whined about her perceived loathing. 

The truth was that she was apathetic at best about the winter holiday. 

And the truth about that truth was that, until now, she really didn’t have a _reason_ to feel anything more than indifference towards Christmas. 

That is, until Chloe “I _Sweat_ Peppermint and Hot Chocolate” Beale waltzed into her life with a wreath around her neck and earrings that jingled when she walked. 

Her mom had always been working on Christmas. Nurses have crazy hours, and so the holiday was normally celebrated on whatever day she wasn’t on call - the Thursday before or the Saturday after or at nine on a Tuesday night. With that, and a father that believed firmly in the “adulting” of children, the myth of Santa Claus was dissolved even before it could spread, and Beca had been asking for wads of cash as annual signs of their love since then. 

The carols were poor. They lacked ingenuity, and the only thing that made them any good was the sweet taste of nostalgia that was never instilled in Beca in the first place. Pine needles made her skin itch, candy canes gave her headaches, and snow…

…Well clumsy people and snow never really got along, did they? 

But Chloe…

Chloe lived for Christmas. It started mid-November and officially ended by Valentine’s Day, though there were times in June and July when Beca caught her watching those creepy stop-motion holiday movies. Beca never complained about this _that_ much, though, because she’d never really seen someone pull off a Santa hat with the kind of bravado that Chloe did, and there were times when she was convinced that Chloe’s voice was _made_ with the perfect twang for “Jingle Bell Rock”. The issue mostly lay in the fact that while Beca loved Chloe’s love for Christmas, it was really only a love to be experienced from _afar._ Participation wasn’t high up on the list of Beca’s to-dos, and she learned pretty early on in their friendship-turned-relationship that watching Chloe sufficed as a form of solid, satisfying entertainment. 

This, apparently, was not a good enough excuse for Chloe. 

“ _You_  are not getting a choice in the matter,” Chloe said, her voice filled with warning. She flung the garland around Beca’s neck, tugging slightly from where the other girl sat on the couch. “You’re helping.” 

“My back is sore,” Beca said. Her tone indicated no clear proof behind the statement, and, in fact, with the raise of her eyebrow, she was practically _asking_ Chloe to challenge the claim. 

“Oh, stick it up your North Pole and help me put the ornaments on,” Chloe tutted. The radio was blasting carols, and when Chloe reached down to the box (within a box within a box….really _why_ did they have so many ornaments in the first place? And how? _Who_ bought them?) she wiggled her hips to the tune. Looking back up at Beca, she sighed. “Come _on_.” 

“Okay, okay, I’m moving,” Beca grumbled. She started perusing the box for a decent ornament, fingers getting caught on bright red. “What is _this_?” 

What she lifted out of the box was some weird blend of voodoo doll and Frosty the Snowman, with button eyes that were sewn so the x’s were extra large and extra ominous. Bright red hair was stuck on top, and it seemed to be vomiting some kind of black ink. 

“That’s _me_ ,” Chloe said, stealing the ornament. “Chloe Beale, Grade One,” she read from the bottom. 

“I didn’t know you were a demon when you were little,” Beca commented, earning a glare from the other woman. “What? You wanted me to be involved.” 

“For the record,” Chloe sniffed, “I wasn’t a demon. This was the best snowman in the class.” 

“For the _record_ ,” Beca said, “You’re throwing up tar.” 

“That’s a _music note,”_ Chloe argued. As she huffed, she stuck it onto the tree, spinning haughtily away from Beca’s teasing gaze. “Besides, your mom gave me a box of ornaments too, and don’t think I haven’t seen Beca Mitchell as the Virgin Mary.” 

“What?” 

Spinning around, Beca saw Chloe was holding a popsicle stick picture frame held on string. The picture inside was of a miniature Beca, one with a front tooth missing and hair that curled right out of the light blue veil that was slipping off of her forehead. She was wearing that and an old Christmas sweater that went down to her knees even then. Her socks were mismatched. “Gimme that,” she spat, stealing the ornament from Chloe’s grasp. “This was all not voluntary,” she explained when she pointed at the picture. 

“Yeah, _that’s_ what the giant smile on your face says,” Chloe joked. Beca shoved her lightly, inspecting the picture again. 

They went back and forth like that a few times, laughing at whatever was made or bought for parents that were so clearly cherished that they somehow ended up back with Beca and Chloe in present day. The tree was finished quickly - quicker than when Beca watched Chloe do it - and just as Beca was about to sit down again, Chloe squealed.

“You are _not_ done,” she said harshly, grabbing Beca’s hand to pull her up. 

“What more could we have to do? The cookies are already made, the tree’s already u–”

“We have the banister, obviously. And the lights outside. An–”

“We live in an _apartment_ ,” Beca said, “Our only outside is a fire escape.”

“The poor must get creative,” Chloe reassured her. 

It was always that simple with her. What you had, you used. 

And they used _a lot,_ because the entire process of Christmas-fying the house took from one in the afternoon to a little after five, somehow ending in Beca and Chloe in fits and giggles clutching onto their stomachs on a pile of santa hats and fake poinsettias. 

“Your turn,” Chloe said, turning to face Beca face to face. They were on the carpet - or the new Christmas carpet of pine needles and red felt - and Chloe’s eyes matched up perfectly in line with Beca’s. The Christmas tree was finally lit, and with the setting of the sun in the city outside, it was all almost…perfect.

Chloe strayed away from that word and all of it’s dangers, but she couldn’t deny this moment. She couldn’t deny the way the kitchen smelled like cookies or the way Beca looked _so much better than she thought_ in bright green. It was perfect. _Beca_ was perfect. “Favorite present so far?” she asked, twirling a front strand of Beca’s hair around her finger. 

“So far?” Beca asked. “I…haven’t….really…” she stopped to clear her throat, shaking her head and smiling at something to herself. It took all of Chloe’s willpower not to reach up and tilt her neck just enough to kiss her. “You are,” she answered finally, blushing. “You are.” 

It was cheesy. It was _beyond_ cheesy, but Beca was also _beyond_ cheesy at this point. Against everything in her nature, she was trusting and vulnerable with Chloe. She was certain. And, just like that, with the swell of the Christmas carol and the way the Christmas lights beamed back from Chloe’s pupils, she didn’t care anymore how cheesy it was. 

She loved to see Chloe love. And the only thing better than that was to be by her side as it happened. 

“Well tie me to Santa’s sleigh and guide the way, because I’d call this Beca Mitchell catching the Christmas Spirit,” Chloe said, reading her mind. She scooting closer to Beca, nudging her slightly with her nose and sighing. 

“Truly a Christmas miracle,” Beca hummed, pulling Chloe in. A Christmas miracle indeed. 


	254. Victorian Boarding School AU

“She’s going to _murder_ us,” Chloe winced, pulling a few strands of hair back so that she could focus on tying her pantalettes in place. 

“Oh calm down,” Beca muttered. She was positioned on the bed next to Chloe’s, already fully dressed with her hands behind her head. “Madame’s got enough stuck up her bottom to be worrying about one of her brightest pupils getting a little more beauty sleep.” 

“I’m not referring to me,” Chloe said pointedly. “You’ve been absent breakfast three out of the past five days….which means that you should _go_. Now. I can get ready on my own.” 

“It’s true that you can,” Beca said. There was a tone in her voice that hinted at more, and, despite her rush, Chloe grinned at it. “But that doesn’t mean I _want_ you to.” 

The truth was that while the headmistress would confidently claim that Chloe adapted absolutely _swimmingly_ to the boarding school in the first few weeks - becoming the center of attention at almost every common hour and actually _pulling_ focus during quiet hours, never once letting her grades falter between gossip sessions with Aubrey - there was a grayness to the institution’s walls that Chloe was unaccustomed to. It was colder here than at the manor, both in temperature and in color, and, sure, Chloe did her best to radiate what kind of self-proclaimed brilliance that she could (it could be pointed out here that the headmistress’ one complaint was that Chloe lacked the kind of humility they strove to instill in their ladies), but homesickness hit her terribly no matter how many silly drawings she sent to her brother through the mail. 

What many other girls would find even more surprising was the fact that Chloe’s one saving grace had been the stone-faced girl in the corner of the classroom. When she first arrived at the school, rumors seemed to float above Beca’s head. She came from a rich family, one that was sure to set her up nicely in a home with a good husband, until she had relations with some wealthy banker her father knew. Or she was born to a parson and locked away for so long that she actually didn’t know how to speak proper English. 

With her bed situated next to Chloe’s, the redhead spent a week and a half trying to figure out what was going on behind the grey blue of the other girl’s eyes. She was, according to the mission statement of Barden School for Girls, the ideal young woman: timid but intelligent, humble in the way she held herself, and meek in the way she dressed. On the first night it snowed, halfway through Chloe’s nightly half-hour of contemplation and suspicion, Beca shifted to face Chloe, eyes open and grin wide. She looked like a wolf, almost, in the moonlight like that. Hungry and lit up with something _other_. 

That night, Beca snuck Chloe out so that they could feel the snow for the first time that season. She had to survive a week of runny noses and tickly throats, but if she was asked, she would do it again in a heartbeat. 

“Hush,” Chloe said finally, her lips pursed in determination. She wasn’t going to turn around, because if she did, she’d see that same kind of look on Beca’s face, and even now, in the pale light of morning, it was not something she was sure she could resist. 

Fiddling with her crinoline, she paused, running her hand over her forehead. The cold feeling of someone else’s hands on her hips was enough to make her jump, spinning around and breaking that vow she had made to ignore Beca’s mischievous smirk altogether. 

“What?” Beca asked innocently. Her eyes were sparkling. Chloe’s mother used to tell her that at the corner of every woman’s mouth was a secret - the end of a smile could always tell you what another girl was thinking. 

She wondered, briefly, what her mother would say about the twist at the edge of this woman’s mouth and all the hidden meanings within it. 

“I’m just helping you get ready,” Beca continued, challenging Chloe with her stare. When, finally, the redhead looked down at Beca’s hands, she realized that the fastener was being undone. 

“Bec _a_ ,” Chloe whined, grabbing Beca’s chilled hands in her own warm ones. “We _have_ to go.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Beca said. She stepped forward with her hands still in place. “No one’s come to fetch us yet. You really think they’re going to send someone now?” 

“That’s not the _point_ ,” Chloe argued. There was a chuckle in her voice - the kind of breathless exasperation that she used to feel when her brother was tickling her so hard she had to beg him to stop. “You said, ‘only when everything but the moon is sleeping’.”

“I say a lot of things,” Beca said. Her hand was now wrapped around the steel bar of the hoop, earning enough leverage to pull Chloe closer. 

“Actually, m’lady, you have a nasty habit of saying nothing at all most days.” 

“No one’s inspired me to speak up quite the way you do,” Beca countered. Chloe shook her head, breathing out and looking down only to find that her attempt at escaping Beca’s gaze left her looking instead at the curl of her knuckles against white cotton and lace. 

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Chloe said, her voice an imitation of the headmistress’ shrill trill. 

“That’s the game plan,” Beca joked. She stepped back then, though her hands remained. “Next time I try to seduce you, _don’t_ pretend to be headmistress.” 

With that, she stepped back again, running her hands over the front of her own dress to smooth out the wrinkles. 

“You don’t find that one hair on her mole positively charming?” Chloe joked, to which Beca only responded with a mocking dry heave. Chuckling, the redhead refastened the crinoline, reaching out for the rest of her outfit. 

As she walked, the dress swished, and it was the only sound between the two girls but there wasn’t any discomfort in that fact. Only, familiarity - the first taste that Chloe had felt since being sent to the school. Despite the confines of her outfit, she took a deep breath, standing up straighter as Beca held the door open for her and gestured for the redhead to lead. Before she could cross the threshold, though, a hair pin flew from the edge of Chloe’s vision to the ground, where it clanked lightly. 

“Oops,” Beca teased, tilting her head towards the pin and waiting for Chloe to pick it up. 

With a scrunch of her nose, she shoved the pin back in Beca’s hand, feeling the weight of her gaze and trying her best not to crumble under it. 

“You see me _daily_ in my undergarments, and getting a peek of my ankle felt important to you?” she whispered as Beca rushed to catch up to her hurried stride down the corridor. 

“When you _deny_ me the chance at more after I so politely ask, yes,” Beca said. “And just a warning: I’m feeling extra clumsy today.” 

“You’re relentless,” Chloe chided, making her way down the steps. 

“The headmistress prefers ‘pigheaded’ when she thinks I’m not listening,” Beca added, her hand falling fleetingly on the side of Chloe, brushing just in the righ places to run a shiver down Chloe’s back before they made their way to the main dining room. 

“And who’s the one bringing up the headmistress at inopportune times now, hmm?” Chloe whispered, the sound of her chair against the hardwood enough to block out her words from anyone who could overhear. 

“I wasn’t aware that very public settings held the possibility to be ‘inopportune’,” Beca mocked. The smile, right there, was back again, and Chloe shivered once more at the secret there. The mystery and the way that it tasted, so tightly held that only she could recognize it. She wasn’t sure if it was the corset or the race down the steps, but she knew she was flushed. “But now that I know,” Beca continued, “I’ll have to better behave myself.” 


	255. The CLASSIC Mistletoe Fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm here to shamelessly prompt you for my own personal gain and, also, to confess a dark secret.... I am a SLUT for the mistletoe kiss trope. Like, the things I would do for a mistletoe mini fic do not bear repeating. So. Yeah. Christmas, huh? — sent by redlance

The Trebles did…just a smidge better than horrible this year when it came to preparing for their annual Christmas party. 

That was the only credit Beca could provide when they walked into the house that Saturday, stick picking pieces of the bushes out of their hair, to find that there were a few pine branches hanging from the banisters (straight out of the woods, it seemed), with Benji’s second-grade felt snowman acting as a table-runner (it still said “Mom’s Favorite Son” on it in sparkly red writing), and a Christmas tree that was, very clearly, a fake tree that one of the frats abadoned at the end of last year (it leaned inherently to the left, which lead to Donald, poli-sci major extraordinaire, labeling it as the “BernTree Sanders”). They even had a few cereal bowls out filled with candy canes, undoubtedly Jesse’s doing, and, if anyone asked, the decorations came from the red solo cups and the Heinekens…as was the joke every year. 

For four years, they walked into the house to the tune of previously recorded male acapella (“That’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard, and I shared a room with CR freshman year,” Amy had said two years back), and for four years, Chloe would hum thoughtfully, shrugging as if clearly disappointed but not willing to say it. It was in those moments that she looked like a mother inspecting some undeserving groom before rehearsal dinner. Not coincidentally, it was also in those moments when Chloe looked _eerily_ similar to Aubrey. 

And, every year when they came back to the Bella house - the alcohol finally hitting them only on the walk home so that their haphazard caroling became just embarrassing stumbles and semi-harmonized laughter - Beca would ask, “Why don’t we just have it next year, then, Miss Never Can Be Impressed?” 

To which Chloe would respond, without wavering, “Because it’s a _tradition_ , Becs. I am and always will be a slut for tradition.” 

“That’s not the only thing she’s a slut for,” Stacie mumbled, falling bottom first over the back of the couch to perform a sort of somersault into sitting position. 

(It should be noted that, because this exchange happened every year, by Beca’s junior year she got fed up enough with that side comment from Stacie that she actually asked what that even meant. Stacie looked knowingly at Chloe, then back at Beca, grinning as if she knew some sort of secret, and said, “Oh, nothing, sweet Beca” patting the brunette’s cheek cajolingly before reaching for the remote to turn on their own Christmas playlist and keep the party going). 

This time, when Chloe walked in, Beca watched her, waiting for that kind of unsatisfied set of her jaw and finding that, for a woman who loved tradition, there were apparently patterns that could be broken too. When Chloe scanned the room, she shrugged, though this time there was a small sparkle to her eye and an added bounce. 

“I need a drink,” she said, turning around so she was walking backwards into the party to face Beca. “You want?” 

“When am I in the Trebles house and _not_ in need of intoxicants?” Beca asked. At that, a pair of hands found their way to her shoulders, making her jump and turn as Chloe slipped out of the room. 

“That is _no way_ to treat the former home of your lover,” Jesse said, his arms waving out to show off the room. 

“I _have_ never, nor will I _ever_ , allow you to refer to yourself as lover,” Beca said. 

“That’s what I was,” Jesse argued, “Your _loverrrrrrr_.” 

“Gross,” Beca grumbled. She halfheartedly tapped at his cheek to swat his face out of the way of hers, hating the small chuckle stuck in the back of her throat. Finally, he relented, backing up, but with his arm still around her shoulder, she was responsible for holding some (most) of his already drunken weight. 

“Oh, shit,” Beca said quickly, pulling away from him and watching him bob slightly to gain balance again. “Your present.” Reaching into her back pocket, she pulled out a USB, handing it to him but hesitating before she put it in her hands. “Are you going to lose this the second I hand it over?”

“No,” Jesse said. The grin on his face was not unlike a kid who’d gotten into the jar of peanut butter - utterly and completely full of shit. 

“You’re drunk,” Beca surmised, and Jesse just closed his grin, nodding once to confirm. Pulling the USB back from the dangers of his intoxication, she sat down on the armrest of the couch, looking up at him. “Tomorrow?” 

“Only if I can give you your gift tonight,” Jesse said. 

“Nothing weird and dirty?” 

“Beca, there wasn’t anything weird and dirty when we dated,” Jesse said. His hand was on his chest, as if he was making an oath. “Why would we change our habits now?” 

Grimacing again - and incidentally providing Jesse with exactly the kind of reaction he wanted - she waved her hand at him to tell him to keep going. 

“Okay, so your present is right there,” Jesse said, pointing to the doorway. If Beca squinted enough, she could see a small bundle of grass sitting on the wooden frame. 

“You plucked grass and taped it on the door just for _lil ol’ me?”_ Beca drawled, only breaking character when Jesse shoved her lightly. 

“It’s a mistletoe. I mean, not completely. Because it’s grass technically. But…tomato tomahto,” he explained, and for a fraction of a second, Beca was serious. That fraction of a second, of course, was short-lived, because the minute she came to her senses, she squinted, tilted her head, pointed to the door, and opened her mouth to ask the question she assumed Jesse was waiting for. “Not for _us_ ,” he clarified, “God, if I knew you wanted to get with me so badly….”

“Get to the point, Swanson,” Beca said, nudging him with her knee. 

“Alright, alright. Pushy. Yeesh. The point is, the mistletoe is for you and…” he stopped, looking up to see Chloe standing behind the couch, two cups in her hand. “Chloe, hey!” 

Face not moving from the previous one of complete confusion, Beca assumed that was all she was going to get out of Jesse - which wasn’t really reassuring seeing as it seemed like he had the intention of hooking her up with someone here and the Trebles…well…with the exception of Jesse, that old Bella rule wasn’t really much of an issue. Or any issue at all, really. Concerned, she took the cup from Chloe’s hand and downed in three gulps, handing it back to the redhead with a weak smile. 

“Alrighty then,” Chloe sang, watching Beca carefully. “We rushing towards the ‘to all a good night’ part of the story, Becs?” 

“Hmm? Oh. No. Just…uh…need to warm up,” Beca answered. She slapped her legs, standing up again. 

Mrs. Claus’ Aca-Punch (which differed from the Trebles typical “Aca-Punch” in…absolutely no way at all whatsoever except it was put in a green bowl instead of a blue on) was just as powerful as Beca always (hazily) remembered it, and though she wouldn’t admit it, simply by standing she was starting to already feel the effects. 

It worked though, remarkably well, because between the internship and finals and the Bellas and whatever the _fuck_ Jesse was on about, alcohol was just about the only thing that could loosen her muscles enough to make her start to forget about the weight of all the bags of responsibilities she had on her shoulders. Besides, the other Bellas seemed to follow suite pretty well, either because they, too, were feeling the pressure that was preparing for a world wide acapella competition (even _thinking_ those words made Beca cringe inwardly for the woman she had become) or because they always seemed drunker the more Beca had to drink. 

One thing was almost completely certain, and it was that if Beca was determined to get drunk at the Trebles Christmas party, Chloe was determined to get _smashed_. She deserved it after all. Three years of the same class, the same professor, and the same reading, all piled on to what was probably a ridiculous bill…hell, she _earned_ the right to drink as much as she wanted, whenever she wanted, even if it resulted in a _ridiculous_ (Beca applied that word to describe it because if she began to try to describe it in any other way…well, then, things had the potential to get dangerous) rendition of Santa Baby and a “lost” Christmas sweater. Sober Beca knew pretty well that the Christmas sweater was under the couch, where Chloe threw it halfway through the first chorus of the song, but drunk Beca…drunk Beca didn’t mind the tank top and candy cane skirt combo that Chloe was rocking. 

Was it ever really wrong to appreciate a fellow captains dedication to the cardio portion of Bella life, anyway? 

“You want a hand towel for that pool of drool you’re swimming in?” Amy said from behind her, looking pointedly in the direction of Beca’s stare - Chloe in the center of the room, teaching Stacie and Emily the high school dance she choreographed to “Jingle Bell Rock”. 

“What?”

Amy just snorted, looked back at Chloe, and shouted for Bumper, who was somehow and for some reason crawling under the tree, his bottom sticking up and out just enough to pull at the waist of his trousers. 

“I feel like someone’s not telling me something,” Beca spilled later that night, sitting on the couch next to Emily, who’s head was rolling in a small circle. “You know what I mean? Like everyone knows this joke and I’m…” she blew a raspberry, holding up her hands, “No one tells me things.”

“I would tell you things,” Emily muttered. She was drunk enough that her stare was focused towards the beer stain in the carpet and her lower lip was permanently sticking out. 

“Hey, Beca?” Jesse’s voice came from the kitchen, drunk enough to seem shrieky, and Beca grunted, hands on the edge of the couch to help her pull herself up. “Benji doesn’t believe you can fit in the smallest cabinet over here…”

“What?” Beca reeled. She was up in seconds, swaying in a few more, and then on the move without much pause. Putting a hand on Emily’s shoulders, she patted them once, harshly, to put an end to their conversation. “I swear I did this last time I was here…” she shouted towards them. She’d already kicked her boots off, which allowed for easier access into the kitchen, but she didn’t much take into account the possibility for two way traffic. 

In her defense, though, yes, she was drunk, but she wasn’t so drunk as to not see a person coming through a doorway. Especially a person like Chloe, who, as previously pointed out, was donning a tank top and a candy cane skirt and a nose as red as Rudolph’s thanks to the alcohol. No, it _definitely_ seemed like Chloe had been _pushed_ into the doorway, stumbling and latching onto the wood to keep herself standing. The surprise and slight offense on her face would’ve confirmed that conjecture, but Beca couldn’t much consider these logical things anymore, because A) she was drunk and B) in order to prevent a collision, Chloe’s hands quickly caught Beca’s arms, holding tightly though they were nearly nose to nose.

“Hey there,” Chloe said quietly. Beca nearly blacked out from the alcohol on Chloe’s breath, but, somehow, she also tasted a touch of peppermint. 

It was, for the record, not lost on Beca that she was _tasting_ Chloe’s breath. That they were just _that_ close. 

“Heyyy,” Beca answered. It was suddenly overwhelmingly hilarious how close they were - for both of them, really - and their goofy grins hinted at this strange, obviously drunken form of comedy. “You, are in my way,” Beca said finally, though her hands had made their way to Chloe’s hips. 

They were comfortable there, on Chloe’s hips. The redhead was radiating warmth, and Beca’s hands were always a tad too cold, and while they itched to be _somewhere_ else, they also felt like they fit perfectly in the little crook there. 

“You,” Chloe answered back in the same tone, “Are…” she bit her lip, grinning, her eyes trailing upwards to the point of her finger. Beca followed the stare, seeing the grass held up by scotch tape. 

“I see,” Beca said. Her voice was a touch shaky, despite the amount of alcohol she’d had to smooth it down. 

“Tradition is tradition, you know,” Chloe said simply. She seemed comfortable. Amused, really, and it almost made Beca angry, or, at the very least, frustrated. Because her heart was just about thumping out of her chest at the very proximity between the two of them, and, oh _God_ , even _that_ was depleting by the second. 

Beca took in a shaky breath, eyes flitting to Chloe’s lips only because the redhead’s unashamedly focused on hers. 

It seemed, though Beca never got a confirmation on this, that the entire house quieted down. The crappy music went completely silent, and the clanking of bottles halted, and even the lights dimmed enough so that there was only plastic strings christmas bulbs glowing in the room. 

It seemed, quite seriously, like the room and everything in it disappeared in favor of the feeling of Chloe’s hands scooting their way up Beca’s arms until they rested on her shoulders, then pressed into the back of her neck. Until all Beca could feel was this chilling fear crooked into her chest, like a slick injection, and then…

Chloe was there. Right _there_. And her lips tasted like peppermint just as Beca expected. 

She was drunk. If asked, later, for an explanation, she would say she was drunk. Drunk and warm and stressed and really in need of some _any_ thing that felt good. And Chloe Beale felt good, at least now, at least like this, as if it were a surprise at all that the redhead was capable of making every single operable thought in Beca’s head melt. But whatever the later explanation would be, something pushed Beca forward, enough to push Chloe into the doorframe, resulting in a squeak from the other girl and a grin from Beca, because that wasn’t a sound she’d had the pleasure to hear before and she didn’t really realize just how much she would enjoy hearing it. 

She didn’t really realize just how much she would enjoy any of this. Neither, apparently, did Chloe, although she seemed a touch more prepared for the whole thing, because they both were reacting with a mix of surprised hesitance and pure instinct - a mix of speeding loops of panicked thought and no thought at all - and Beca pushed harder, hands falling a bit lower, so that the piece of her still worrying about what was happening would dissolve into the burning that she felt pumping in her chest. 

When it happened, with Chloe’s hands making their way to twirl the ends of Beca’s hair - when the anxiety and thoughtfulness vaporized and became steam - was the exact moment the redhead pulled away, eyes still closed, lips still pursed, as if it was a surprise to even herself that she’d done what she did. 

Then, without the effect that Chloe’s proximity had had on her earlier, Beca knew for certain that the Trebles house _was_ silent. Really, painfully silent, save from the sound of both of them breathing and one person - one singular person - putting their glass down on the table somewhere in the other room. 

“Ho ho holy shit,” Stacie said from the kitchen. Chloe’s face cracked, crumbling from a tower of relief to concern until finally reaching some state of amusement as she pressed forward, her forehead touching Beca’s. They were both laughing, hands still in the positions they’d had them in only seconds before. Jesse, Beca thought, let out a whoop, followed by a “Get it, Becaw” that made her grimace more than she knew was necessary, and, with that, the silence was broken. 

The music was turned back on, the chatter started up again, and Amy offered up a game of Christmas tree beer pong - her against three of the guys. 

Beca, though, didn’t move. Didn’t a make a sound. She was afraid if she lifted her hands, they would be shaking. 

“I _really_ love tradition,” Chloe finally said, moving slightly so that she was leaning against the doorframe. Her arm was slack now, tugging at the Beca’s curls mindlessly. 

Beca chuckled lightly. She had a hand pressed up on the doorframe, enough so that she could press her forehead to Chloe’s again. “Yeah, I see why,” Beca finally said, her voice just above a whisper and squeaking a bit like a prepubescent boy’s. 


	256. My Kid Hit You on The Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the "My kid hit you in the back your head with their toy and blamed it on me" AU please? — sent by anonymous

There were plenty of reasons why she couldn’t exactly be mad. 

The first being that her head had, at that moment, been spiraling down a path of thought that started with her grocery list and ended with her, somehow, scripting the conversation she was going to be forced to have at least three times over the course of the holidays. You know, the conversation that was “Why I Am So Alone and Have Nothing Figured Out But Am Smiling and Drinking Anyway”. It was as if the minute the calendar turned to December, the echoes of _last_ years snide comments rolled around and around in her head until there was new ammo with which to shoot. The GI Joe doll to her head was actually quite welcome at that point in the mental monologue. 

Then, there was the fact that it didn’t hurt so much as it just surprised Chloe, because, okay, she wasn’t terribly accustomed to things falling out of the sky. No harm, no foul there. 

Of course, it helped that the thrower in question was the most adorable little girl she’d seen - and, yes, she said this about _every_ kid she encountered, because _hello_ evolutionarily-speaking, this was the _proper_ response to have to those tiny bumbling balls of baby fat and rosy cheeks. This little girl, though, was an exception. (The narrator feels the need to point out that this, too, is something Chloe always says upon seeing anyone under the age of nine). Her hair _might_ have been brushed earlier that morning, but there were no traces of organization left anymore in what was fluffy and fuzzy and honey brown curling all around her head, and there was an angular shape to her face that _somehow_ blended quite nicely with the typical and necessary roundness of every Gerber baby ever hired. She was, Chloe guessed, about two years old, but, then again, despite literally _working_ with children, the redhead wasn’t particularly skilled at guessing ages. Around the time Chloe said “Ow” without thinking and clutched her head, reeling towards the direction of the flying object, the little girl closed her mouth, widened her eyes, and pulled a face that, while attempting innocence, was very clearly guilty. She was wearing a tiny, blank baseball jersey - the white kind with the red ribbing and the navy blue sleeves that seemed to match her wide eyes perfectly - and covering her black leggings were Converse that were so tiny, Chloe wondered how her mom got them on in the first place. That, coupled with the little girl’s quick finger pointing straight up at the woman reaching for _the_ most sugary cereal in the aisle, led Chloe to the final reason she wasn’t particularly angry about her minor GI Joe concussion. 

Because this woman, presumably the little girl’s mother, if genetics could be held responsible for the eerily similar look of concentration the two girls shared, was….

…Well, frankly, she wasn’t the kind of woman you wanted to meet in the grocery store via her daughter. 

She was the kind of woman you wanted to meet not _at_ a party but _after_ the party, on the elevator up to your hotel room, where you’d hatch some quick and witty conversation about how terrible both of your nights were before deciding on a whim (and a few bottles of beer) to get room service together. 

She was the kind of woman you wanted to know in high school, not because she was popular but because that seemed to be the only way to lay claim to her at a time _before_ the rest of the world noticed just how _UGH_ she was. 

She was the kind of woman you wanted to move into the open apartment next to you, so that you could bump the thermostat up and “accidentally” knock on her door to see what was happening (was Chloe the only one who did this? Yes? Well…good for her for being creative, at least). 

Chloe realized somewhere around the fifth or sixth second of staring that she was, in fact, staring, and as she stuttered to find words, the other woman looked uncomfortable, glancing down at her daughter and back before lunging for the toy and bopping it back in the little girl’s hand. “Sorry,” she said, wincing. “She…uh….That wasn’t me, for the record.” 

Chloe took a deep breath when the other woman started to talk. She was awkward, Chloe thought. And, as terrible as it was to think, that made the interaction just a little bit easier. 

“I assumed,” Chloe chuckled, “She’ll got a mean curveball.” 

“I think it’s the doll,” the woman relented. She looked down at the little girl, her hands running over the messy hair without trying to brush it down. “Aerodynamics or some shit.” 

Chloe raised an eyebrow at the curse word, but when neither the girl nor the woman responsible for raising her responding, she assumed it was a usual thing. Judging by the way the woman was biting her cheek, holding back a grin as she watched her daughter, Chloe had no doubt that swearing was not indicative of the quality of parent that the woman was. 

“Although, she kind of gets it from her mother, you know,” the woman continued. It was not lost on Chloe that this woman _willingly_ continued to engage in conversation. Leaning against the rails of the cart, Chloe tilted her head. 

“Softball?” 

“Hardly,” the woman scoffed. “But I’ve got a right hook that’s been around.” 

“Noted,” Chloe said, impressed. The girl was around her height, maybe (definitely) just a few inches shorter, but Chloe didn’t doubt her abilities. Donning a purple plaid shirt that made her eyes a touch more violet than navy, ear spikes in but not…overpowering, this woman wasn’t someone she wanted on her bad side. 

On her good side, though? Well, Chloe wouldn’t complain about that. 

But, okay, Red, get your head out of the gutter, because you are currently, yes, talking to a very attractive woman, but she’s also a mother. Presumably meaning she gave birth to this baby with the help of another set of DNA. Presumably still in her life. 

So, no. Straighten your back, turn your cart, and get out of there before you say something stu–

“What’s her name?” Chloe asked, knowing that the plan hatching her head was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. 

But, in her defense, there was no ring. 

Not that she was looking. 

(I don’t know why she’s trying to fool you, though, because, _duh_ she was looking. She’d been looking before she even realized she should. Err, shouldn’t.)

“Avery,” the woman said. She was tugging at the feathery hair now, pulling it into a ponytail with her pointer finger and thumb before letting it go. Chloe hummed, thoughtful, and, as if the woman was expected some sort of undiluted praise for anything and everything related to her baby (Chloe would defend this response by saying that with a baby like that, these things _are_ expected), she looked up, surprised. “Could call her Cupid instead, is all,” Chloe finished. She was trailing her thumbnail over the edge of the shopping cart’s handle, watching it intently though her grin was easily giving her away. 

“And why is that?” the woman asked. She wasn’t, it’s important to note, _dis_ interested. In fact, judging by the fact that Chloe could feel her stare on the curve of her thumb, she seemed more than a little intrigued. 

“Because, you know, Cupid, the tiny baby….” Chloe started. The other woman tilted her head, smirking but confused. “Throwing things at people to make them fall in love….”

“Okay, A) Cupid used _bows_ , he wasn’t just _throwing_ things. And B) we’re in the grocery store having just met and you’re using the L word?” 

Chloe laughed. Despite her words, there wasn’t a bit of argument in the other woman’s tone. “Neither of those arguments are disproving my point, though,” Chloe said. “Semantics only.” 

“This is easily the cheesiest pick-up line I’ve ever heard,” the woman shook her head. 

“And yet you’re still here.” 

“Yeah, and you’re still exploiting my daughter to get me to go out with you.” 

Chloe stood up straighter, pursing her lips. 

Act more confidence, her mother always said, and that’s what you will be. “At least I don’t make her pretend to throw things at pretty strangers.” 

The other woman’s jaw dropped - a uniquely satisfying thing to experience. “I wasn’t…I’m not…We didn’t…”

“I saw you, and you did,” Chloe joked. Her arms were crossed now, her grin growing ever-wider. “It kinda makes you a terrible pickup artist.” 

She gestured to the baby, Avery, who was still sleeping soundly despite the loud sounds in the store. “Whatever,” the girl’s voice snaked Chloe back into reality. It was playful, but in a way that tugged at offense.

“Oh, come on, I’m _just_ kidding,” Chloe said. “So, we’re both equally bad…” Chloe admitted. The other woman laughed lightly, maybe politely, and looked around at the aisle of cereal. 

“Maybe we could be bad together?” the woman finished, one eyebrow raised.

“ _Now_ who’s the terrible one?” Chloe squeaked, shoving the other girl lightly with her shoulder.  Just then, the baby gurgled, slightly loudly accompanied by spit bubbles, and Chloe’s distraction was in full force once more. 

“This one,” the woman said definitively, putting the blame on her daughter in much the same way that her daughter had put the blame on her only moments before. “Definitely this one.” 

“With a face like that, she can get away with it,” Chloe commented. The woman looked down at her daughter again, chuckling to herself. “Though I could say the same to you….”

“Just give me your phone, dear _God,”_ the woman grumbled, her hand held out and waiting. “I can’t handle any more of this.” 

“You started it,” Chloe joked. Her phone fell easily into the other woman’s hand. “And, please, call me Chloe. God’s my father’s name.” 


	257. An Interruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I was reading a story where one of the bellas walk in on bechloe and didn't know anything was going on before that. I'd love your spin on the idea if you're up for it? -hospital anon — sent by anonymous

There was a lot of ways to describe the Bella household. 

Loud would be one of them, because between the constant harmonization, squealing, and arguing over which Dixie Chick song is the most tear-inducing, there was never an absence of sound. 

Messy would be another. Cynthia Rose had a clean streak in her - everything had a place on the side of the room she shared with Stacie as well as in her corner of the pantry - but aside from her, each Bella veered more on the side of organized chaos, the result being that Beca would occasionally find a bra in the freezer or a bag of half-eaten cheetos behind the television. 

But perhaps the most accurate description for the Bella household would be “public”. 

There was, without a doubt, not a chance in hell at privacy. Locking your door only meant people would be banging on it in five seconds, asking with half-curiosity and half-entertainment as to why it was locked in the first place. (After they’d all heard the story of the shower incident Beca’s junior year, the question “What? Are you lady-jamming in there?” became a constant chorus in the house). Sneaking in never worked, because there was always someone staying up late enough to catch the crappy reruns of nineties shows, and even if you sat in the far corner of the room, _everyone_ knew your internet history _all_ of the time. 

To say the least, it forced a girl to get creative. 

Only, Beca had an ache in her back from the hard edge of the rehearsal space’s bathroom sink, and there was a bruise on her hip from the seat belt buckle in Chloe’s used car (which smelled like coconut and the previous owner’s chain-smoking habit…an odor Beca didn’t particularly like associating with heated makeout sessions if she had the opportunity). And while Chloe seemed _perfectly_ comfortable going to the nearest _anywhere_ and choosing the most inopportune moment to catch Beca off-guard, one could not simply ignore that they’d been kicked out of the nearest Target and creeped out by the middle-aged man who frequented the smoothie place they declared their “casual date spot”. 

Desperate times call for desperate measures. Of course, “desperate measures” really should’ve referred to the paragraph right above this one and the actions taken there to keep things under wraps but, either way, at the end of the day, Beca was not in the mood to deny herself the chance to kiss Chloe Beale. She spent four years doing that, and now that she finally worked up the courage to do that, she would’ve liked to have the freedom to kiss her in her _own room_ within her _own house_ that she helped pay for with her _own limited funds._

So when Chloe stopped, Beca’s hands on her hips tugging her closer in the middle of a kitchen that, according to all appearances, was safe in the moment, and asked Beca if she wanted to “go somewhere”, Beca didn’t hesitate to respond with nothing more than another kiss, deeper than before, before stepping away, hand still in Chloe’s belt loop to pull her upstairs to the only room semi-safe in the house. 

The only time Beca remembered the house ever being silent was the instant she slammed Chloe’s bedroom door, albeit accidentally, via the weight of Chloe herself pressed up against it. 

Chloe squeaked, pulling back her head for a moment, a hand on Beca’s cheek. “Okay,” she said, nodding slowly. “Alrighty then.” 

Beca held back her commentary just enough so that it came out as a sort of growl-hum, swallowed up quickly by Chloe’s lips against hers again. 

They stumbled their way over to Chloe’s bed, and, if Beca was capable of higher level thought - she, as it should be obvious, was not capable of higher level thoughts at this point - she would’ve realized how _different_ it felt to have the _room_ to stumble. 

There were, obviously, better feelings happening within her body at the moment for her to notice this much lesser good feeling, so the narrator will point it out to you with the distinction that this was not on either girls’ mind. 

Of course, it was nice to hear the new sound - a sort of surprised peep - that came out of Chloe when she fell back onto the bed, because there was a bed to fall back on for once, and Beca let herself fall into that noise and the feeling of Chloe’s hands skirting around the hem of her shirt as she held herself over the redhead in lieu of being aware of her surroundings. 

It was not really her fault that all she could _feel_ was Chloe, because the other girl’s hands were pressing into the small of her bare back and somehow managing to _burn_ an impossibly cold _chill_ there. 

It was not really her fault that all she could _see_ was Chloe, because her eyes were closed but there was the kind of sharp redness behind her lids that she’d come to associate with only these moments - only this woman. 

It was not really her fault that all she could _hear_ and _smell_ was Chloe, because Chloe’s hair was still wet from her shower, and she smelled even more like oranges than usual, the small squeaks and soft sounds coming from the redhead seeming more _free_ now than they had in the past weeks of sneaking around. 

And, therefore, it would be logical to presume that it also wasn’t Beca’s fault that she forgot to lock the door. Chloe, after all, was the one responsible for closing it in the first place. (Kind of). It also wasn’t Beca’s fault, then, that she didn’t hear the door open, or feel the gust of wind that was the air outside of this suddenly _very_ warm room, or see the shadow that was cast on the hallway lights. 

She did, however, despite it all, hear the gasp, mistaking it originally for a sound that came out of the girl underneath her, and realizing only seconds later that there wasn’t the kind of sudden emptiness of breath that usually accompanied such a noise. Then, there was the, “Holy Aca- _Fuck”,_ that, again, Beca wouldn’t be _surprised_ to hear coming from Chloe in that moment - flattered and a little amused, really, but not surprised - only her lips were _on_ the redhead’s, presumably preventing her from being able to say anything with that kind of clarity at all. 

And in half a second, the series of mistakes and cautionlessness that led up to that moment all caught up to Beca, turning the burning that was reaching from her chest down to her abdomen into a very quickly spreading cold sweeping feeling. 

“Fuck,” Beca whispered, breaking apart from Chloe. The redhead hummed, her eyes still closed, like she was agreeing for all the wrong reasons. “No, Chlo, like _fuck_.” 

With a furrow of Chloe’s eyebrows and a moment of pause to recognize the change in Beca’s voice, Chloe opened her eyes. Beca was still on top of her, only there was a distance between their bodies and a look of panic in Beca’s eyes. 

“The door,” Beca said, scurrying off of Chloe. “The fucking _door_.” 

Whoever had found them had raced off by then, no doubt to tell the rest of the Bellas what she had seen. Because if “public” was the best descriptor for the Bella household, “gossip” would be the most frequently indulged activity. 

“Okay,” Chloe breathed carefully. She sat up, rearranging her shirt, “Okay. Don’t freak out.” 

“Don’t freak out?” Beca squealed. 

“We don’t even know what they saw,” Chloe said. As if in response, there was a clattering downstairs. The sound of a plate being dropped, and Chloe thanked God that she was smart enough to buy only plastic plates for the accident-prone acapella group. From Chloe’s room, Cynthia Rose’s “Aw _shit”_ could be heard, and Beca _swore_ the practiced beat of Stacie and Emily’s secret handshake had made it’s way up to them too. 

She’d learned to memorized the sound of Amy running, also, though not on purpose, so with her hands in her hair and her jaw locked in fear, she listened as Amy raced to the bottom of the stairs. 

“Come out come out wherever you are, aca-bitches,” she said, “In more ways than one.” 

Chloe, despite herself, giggled. Shooting a glare at the redhead, Beca shook her head, beginning to pace the room.

“We can’t stay up here forever,” Chloe finally said, hearing the whispers from downstairs get closer. 

“I’m debating the chances of surviving a fall out the window if we land in the bushes. You can go first, because I’m too bony to catch your fall.” 

“Should I be offended by that?” Chloe asked, but Beca waved off her comment. 

“From there, we can escape to the Trebles. Jesse’s got that futon. I’ll need to come back for my laptop, but we can do that during rehearsals, because we know the house’ll be empty….”

“Beca,” Chloe said. She was standing now, falling into the path of Beca’s pacing so that she could slip her hands into Beca’s easily. Holding their hands up in intertwined fists, she stretched them out before leaning in, nose to nose, like so long ago at hood night. “Downstairs. It’s time.”

“It sounds so ominous,” Beca grumbled, and Chloe laughed, starting to tug Beca just like Beca had only a few minutes before, only with an entirely different purpose. 

They, of course, didn’t have to walk down the stairs to face their judgment. They didn’t even really have to walk out of the room. In the span of only a few seconds, all of the Bellas had crowded into the doorway, leaning as far in as possible without stepping over the threshold. The sudden surprise of all the eyes made Beca jumped back slightly. 

“Jessica, repeat,” Stacie commanded, arms crossed. Crouched into the corner of the entranceway, Jessica hummed, tilting her head. 

“Beca,” she said, semi-accusatory, “On _top_ of Chloe. Very much _not_ practicing choreography.” 

“Or at least not any choreography _I_ want to do,” Ashley finished. They nodded in unison. 

Beca smiled uncomfortably, waving as if she’d never met the group of girls standing in front of her. “Hey, guys. Funny seeing you here, huh?” 

“Don’t Awkward your way out of this, Smalls” Stacie said. 

“Okay, guys, it’s really not a b–” 

“Aca-moms _finally_ sealed the deal,” Amy clapped, interrupting Chloe’s attempt at lessening the embarrassment that was crawling over Beca’s face. “Champagne?” 

She had pronounced it “Cham. Pag. Nay,” and everyone seemed to be okay with this because the only response she received was a few hoots and hollers. 

“Only,” CR said, holding up her finger, “Because we have questions!” 

“Lots of questions,” Stacie added. The look in her eyes was very nearly terrifying, and Beca never could understand the whole scientist thing until that very moment, because it seemed pretty clear to her then that Stacie Conrad would be a natural in the role of utterly mad scientist. “And Beca won’t contribute until she’s drunk.” 

“That’s not true,” Chloe argued. Her hand was in Beca’s, and the brunette squeezed it once - a silent thank you for the instant of bravery in fighting back against the girls. “We have a new angle to work to get her honesty now,” she continued. Beca grunted in surprise, pulling away from Chloe, and the redhead giggled at her reaction. “Sorry, Becs, but the amount of things I could only _speculate_ about for _four years_ with these girls…”

“You’ve been talking about my….abilities for four years?” Beca squealed. Chloe’s hand was still clasped tightly onto Beca’s despite the brunette vehemently pulling away. 

“You were the only one of us with a boyfriend, Mitchell,” Stacie said, “Forgive us for being curious.” 

“Yeah, and now that we presumably have answers…” Jessica added. 

“You guys are creepy,” Beca interrupted whatever Ashley was going to finish with, holding her hand up. “A normal group of friends would just…like…not care.” 

“My mom says normal shouldn’t be in our vocabulary,” Emily piped in from behind the crowd around the door. 

“I hate you all,” Beca grumbled, pointing at them and trying to break through the barrier they’d created to get down to the kitchen and away from the crime scene. The departure made the Bellas turn towards one another, and she heard one of them - Emily, she thought - ask Jessica (or Ashley) again for the details. 

Voyeurism was what it was, Beca thought, shivering off the grossness. 

“Beca, wait a sec!” she heard Chloe shout from behind the human-wall. She paused, turning around just in time for Chloe to catch her hand, breathless. “Do you know what this means?” 

“What?” Beca asked, her eyes geared towards the audience that was still watching them. 

“We don’t have to sneak around anymore!” Chloe’s squeal indicated such excitement that Beca couldn’t help but smile. A little. Hardly. 

“It _means_ ,” Beca said, “We’re going to have to sneak around even _more._  Because now they know to be _looking_ for something.” 

“As if,” Stacie scoffed. She was stepping away from the rest of the girls, checking her nails. “We don’t need to see everything. We simply need to hear all about it always.” 

The other Bellas behind her nodded their heads in agreement at the same time Beca rolled her eyes. 

So, public might be a good word to describe the Bella house, sure. 

But Chloe, Beca knew, would be more apt to use the word “curious”. That’s all it was, she explained later that night as the other Bellas argued over pizza toppings. Simple curiosity. “They’re parents just got married,” she said, taking Beca’s hand, “They need time to adjust and understand the situation. Let them ask questions. The best we can foster is an open atmosphere about the whole thing.” 

The little speech gave Beca another word - one that embodied the past four years with these women, and the utter nonsense that her life had become: Ridiculous. 

Absolutely, undeniably, completely ridiculous.

And still, despite it all, she kind of loved it. Which was a different brand of ridiculous altogether. 


	258. The One Where They're Youtubers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> omg omg omg, now that someone mentioned shannon and cammie, you think you could do something about beca and chloe being youtubers? pretty please? — sent by anonymous

Beca wasn’t sure when her channel morphed from “Beca Mitchell, Professional Idiot” to “Beca and Chloe, the Couple to Beat”, but she suspected it had something to do with the way Chloe laughed at her terrible jokes and the fact that, somehow, once the redhead became comfortable enough on camera, it didn’t take much to convince Beca that a few kisses here and there was enough to bring in the views. 

It was comedic how quickly Chloe got the hang of it all, actually, and, if Beca were a worse person, she would be almost jealous of the amount of comments left _begging_ for more of “that hot redhead”. 

She wasn’t a worse person, though, so reading the comments only made her snicker, week after week after week as she nudged Chloe in bed to point to another one with particularly…imaginative…metaphors. 

The first video they filmed was almost embarrassing, if Beca looked back on it long enough to let herself feel that kind of intense humiliation that accompanies most memories. Beca had been making a few videos here and there, and they had just started dating, but Chloe couldn’t get enough of the channel - which Beca started, in all honesty, to make Chloe laugh on nights they weren’t hanging out together - and during one particular date Beca made a joke of a suggestion that, naturally, Chloe took seriously. 

It wasn’t the most romantic thing they could’ve chosen to do the first night Chloe agreed to come back to the dorm with her, but as Beca set up the camera, she started to notice a certain nervousness creep into Chloe that she hadn’t seen before. And that, she assumed, was good for all that “relationship building” crap she guessed Chloe was into. 

Chloe eyed the camera warily as Beca fiddled with the buttons, attempting to get the frame just right without hindering the lighting. 

“Could you, like, scoot in _just_ a smidge,” Beca asked, lifting the legs of the tripod carefully. Chloe jumped, surprised by the sudden words and then overcompensating by moving almost entirely out of frame. “Too big of a smidge,” Beca muttered while she waved her hand for Chloe to go back. 

The redhead smiled carefully, curling her hair around her finger. Truth be told, the whole process still made _Beca_ nervous, so this shouldn’t have been too surprising of a response. 

It was just that it was _Chloe_ , the girl who went to a soccer game and nearly took her shirt off to distract the opponents (their first date). The girl that walked into Starbucks and asked for a cup of whipped cream “for a friend” (their second date). Beca wasn’t entirely sure _who_ Chloe was yet, but she knew one thing: attention wasn’t something the redhead feared. 

“Nervous?” Beca finally asked. The camera was set and ready to go, but her finger hovered over the button. Chloe shrugged, smiling easily. 

“Just….I’ll warm up.” 

“That’s what she said?” Beca tried. She remembered when she edited the video that night how miraculous it was that she started filming right at the beginning of Chloe’s laughter. It was a piece of footage she wouldn’t ever really want to part with. 

She was right, though. Chloe, that is. Within minutes of that video, she was warmed up, raising eyebrows and scooting closer to Beca, and when the brunette watched these earlier videos back, it was funny to see how obviously flustered she got. Her smile was wider than she’d ever seen it before, her cheeks unfathomably red, and there was a drunkenness to her that was not derived by chemicals. 

The people in the comments mentioned it a few times in those early days. It was even suggested that Beca had some sort of drinking problem, a myth which Chloe had fun debunking when she ventured out and got her own account. 

It became their idea of date night, then. Dinner, a few drinks, and then recording, because at that point they were just loosened up to talk about anything and nothing all at the same time. The next morning when Chloe snuck out to run, Beca would roll to the other side of the bed, picking up her laptop and editing until it was ready for consumption. 

And if she wasn’t already in love with filming videos with Chloe, she became in love with watching Chloe _watch_ the videos. It was the only time - aside from when she listened to Beca’s mixes - that Beca felt like she was capable of making _art_. Which was funny, because two girls sticking marshmallows into their mouths was only considered to be art by a select few creeps online (creeps who, by the way, never failed to comment). 

Then, there was the backlash. Aunts and uncles and cousins finding the videos, asking about Chloe - or Chloe’s relatives asking about Beca - and as annoying as those half-hearted texting conversations were, it was always preferable to having to pick a holiday dinner conversation during which to spread such news. 

Conventions and merchandise and short films and covers that became recordings, all the way to EPs and singles, music videos and satires….the world started to blossom out before them as their numbers heightened. Getting paid for dating someone seemed wrong by some accounts, but when Beca watched the videos back, it kind of made sense. 

They made her happy, these videos. Like a lockbox of all of her memories with Chloe - minus a few obvious ones - set aside for when Chloe was gone. She could only assume that that kind of goofy glee that overcame her throughout the videos also spread onto a few viewers. And, judging by what people said at signings and conventions, she wasn’t wrong. 

The most popular video by far was Chloe’s Coming Out video, one that they both assumed would get a lot of views, but couldn’t have estimated the millions that resulted. Requests came in for Beca to do one, but that never felt right by her. She was never _in_ really. It was more of a “I didn’t know, and then I did” kind of thing, and, besides, there was an importance in separating certain parts of herself from that world. One that Chloe understood but didn’t need, and it was a good sort of balance - the grump and the joy, the quiet and the loud, the sarcastic and the goofy. 

“We’re an OTP,” Chloe said, giggling, in one of the videos. 

“Otters Tan Prettily?” Beca guessed, and Chloe reached up, squeezing her cheeks together to purse Beca’s lips before letting go. 

“One True Pairing, silly,” Chloe said. And after learning that lingo, Beca proclaimed herself the captain of that particular ship. 

It was the kind of life that couldn’t be planned ahead of time. The kind of existence that couldn’t have been predicted. The kind of community that couldn’t have been organized. 

It happened, as slow and as fast as the processing bar on the upload screen, and if Beca had to take any thumbnail for her life, this whole period of time would be it. 

Sitting up in the middle of the night having just finished editing a cover they decided to put together, she snickered. Chloe turned, eyes opening slowly, and hummed a question mark. 

“CityofFire349 said, ‘if u r gay, get out’,” Beca answered, scrolling through the comments. “And Dat420Lyfe responded with, ‘of kourse there gay, thy kiss’.” 

“Dat420Lyfe makes a good point,” Chloe mumbled into her pillow, earning a hearty laugh from Beca. “Any other winners?” 

“Twelve fuck offs in the past sixteen comments,” Beca counted, “And ChloeBeale101 and ChloeBeale342 both responded with ‘Okay *winky face*’.” 

“I’m proud of my faithful following,” Chloe said. Her voice was thick with sleep, enough so that Beca reached out a hand and ran it over the girl’s back a few times to receive a contented hum. “Now sleep, woman. I can’t exploit you on camera if you have bags under your eyes.” 

“I think I’m the exploiter,” Beca commented, closing the laptop immediately. She scooted down in bed, facing Chloe, who was still on her stomach. 

“It’s vlogmas,” Chloe reminded her, “Which means my channel’s getting back at yours for all that unpaid profiteering.” 

“Fine,” Beca sighed, “Use me all you want, Beale. I’ll pretend to hate it.” 

“Shhh,” Chloe said. Her eyes were falling closed quickly. “Save the cute for the camera, will you?” 

And Beca smiled, closing her eyes too. It had become their little saying around the house, so much so that Beca actually had Amy do a ridiculous cross-stitch design of it. They said it so frequently that by now, Beca knew the expected response. “Hope you have a good memory card,” she recited, “Because the cute going on here is going to need constant attention.” 


	259. Remix to Ignition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: super close to hooking up but not yet or super new Bechloe together. Drunken Beca (not as drunk Chloe) are in the kitchen and Beca starts singing/rapping "remix to ignition" complete with lewd hand gestures and sloppy body rolls. "I'mma take my key, stick it in your ignition..." "Give me that toot toot, let me get that beep beep!" You know. Also, this results in good things. — sent by scrawniest-calamity

It started innocently enough.

If you considered entirely too much peach vodka “innocent” enough. 

In Chloe’s defense, she just finished her second - yes, _second_ \- Russian Lit final, and while she knew full well that she bombed every _single_ question on that exam, that didn’t mean she wasn’t allowed a little bit of celebration. 

And in Beca’s defense, she _really_ wanted to get drunk. 

There wasn’t much of a supporting argument there. 

Regardless, this series of stressful and exhausting events led to the typical Saturday need to “unwind”, dragging Chloe to Beca’s room with a shot glass and a bottle of alcohol, a box of pizza rolls held under her arm. 

There wasn’t much, if anything, happening on campus that night - Chloe had checked before even coming to Beca’s room - but she thought they could make their rounds. There was always _something_ going on at the Trebles house - drinking games and playstations, a series of increasingly more complex dares and challenges, their fruitless attempt at beating the world record for longest ping-pong volley - and from there they could sneak into a few frat parties. Sure, they weren’t Beca’s favorite weekend activities - all sweat and heat and none of that signature chill that Beca tried so hard to maintain - but Chloe knew that enough pregaming would push Beca up on the table _next_ to Chloe, dancing like she _very much_ knew the choreography that for so long she pretended to _not_ remember. 

It was the last hurrah that never ended, and every minute that went by was enough to convince Chloe that failing again was _worth_ it. Because Beca was wearing a top that she’d actually stolen from Stacie - something that had just enough Beca Mitchell in it to be worn comfortably, but still held that inherent Stacie qualities that showed up the necessary assets, and her makeup was left over from earlier in the day, smeared just enough so that she looked not unlike her freshman self, something that, if Chloe _had_ to admit it, always made the redhead feel…rebellious. And, by a certain point in the night, she was hand in hand with Chloe, one part of her always pressed against one part of Chloe, so that they forgot how to walk independently. Between songs on the stereo, they would look at each other, trying to start a conversation that held more seriousness that A) they were capable of and B) they were used to having in the first place. 

What’s more, with just the right amount of drinking, Beca started to look at Chloe with what the redhead had dubbed “Friday Night Eyes”. It was the stare that maintained zero inhibitions, communicating paragraphs and poetry in blinks that Chloe knew Beca wouldn’t remember the following day. Of course, those Friday Night Eyes hurt. They never failed to sting a little. But more than that, they sent a chill down Chloe’s spine - one of hope, and love, and, okay, something _very_ different from love but all the more important. 

She felt like she’d felt after failing for the first time: like she made the right choice, even though she knew she made the wrong one. 

And what Beca did next only enhanced this feeling. 

They had barged through the door without much attention being paid to the Bellas that may or may not have been trying to sleep - it was, after all, still finals week - giggling when it slammed against the other side of the wall accidentally. The only place to go was towards the small patches of light in the kitchen, and they tiptoed their way to the cabinets arm in arm, humming occasionally some nonsensical tune. 

“That’s why I’ll never eat marshmallows again,” Beca finished when they were close enough to turn the lower cabinet lights on. Chloe scooted herself up on the counter, giggling all the while. 

“You’re weird,” she said, biting her lip. 

“You’re weird!” Beca responded. Her hand was on Chloe’s knee, and she was dragging it side to side mindlessly. Briefly, Chloe considered how much had changed over the year that she decided to stay a Bella. How unusual it was that Beca could actually _mindlessly_ touch without a hint of self-consciousness. Sure, she was drunk, but even drunk Beca was repressed enough to contain herself in the early days. “It’s weird. I _feel_ weird.”  

Stifling her laugh with her knuckles, Chloe looked up at Beca, her hair falling in her face. “Yea,” she relented, “I feel it, too.” 

Beca chuckled breathily, backing herself away from Chloe by pushing on the redhead’s knees and bouncing back. She pursed her lips, though a grin was still hiding in the corners, and when she opened her mouth next, her voice was smoothed out and curved, like marble. One of Chloe’s favorite sounds. 

“ _Now I’m not tryna be rude, by hey pretty girl I’m feelin’ you,”_ she sang. Chloe laughed at that, a full, snorting laugh, because Beca’s arms were outstretched in her “rapper” stance, and she bobbed her head back and forth to the lyrics. 

“You’re _so_ not gangster enough for this, Becs,” Chloe said. Beca just shrugged off the comment, getting close to Chloe again.

“Don’t give me that,” Beca whispered confidently. Her lids were slightly hooded, and Chloe noticed that immediately, her eyebrows raising. “You love it.” 

Putting her weight back on her hands as she leaned back on the counter top slightly, Chloe tilted her head, giving Beca full permission to continue. 

And continue she did, twisting and turning the words around her lips so that they were somehow infinitely softer than ol’ R. Kelly’s capability, but also inherently harsher. They stung, and not in a way that was painful but in a way that was…addicting. Attracting. Electric. 

Chloe was biting her lip as Beca moved to the chorus, both to keep herself from laughing and to keep herself steady, because Beca was honking an invisible horn on the “toot toot” in one second and running her hands through her hair in the next second, eyes closed and head bopping. 

“ _It’s the remix to ignition, hot and fresh out the kitchen,”_ Beca sang, purposefully putting finger on the stove for emphasis and smiling when Chloe barked out a laugh. “ _Mama rollin’ that body got every man in here wishin’…”_

Then, there was that choreography again. That way of moving her hips that, for the first few months with the Bellas, Beca pretended like she didn’t know how to do. It was so much more intense when contained in this small room, geared only towards Chloe so that every time Beca did it, so took another step towards the redhead’s spot on the counter. When she reached out a hand to casually bop Chloe’s knee, Chloe actually jumped. 

“ _Bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce,”_ Beca sang, her little hop verging, once more, on adorable. The second set of bounces, however, forced her stare onto Chloe’s, and the adorable turned into something….much _much_ less innocent. 

In both of their defenses, by some people’s definitions, it _did_ begin innocently enough. 

If anyone asked. 

That didn’t necessarily mean that it _ended_ innocently enough, or that it ended at all, really, because Beca never _was_ able to reach the chorus again or finish the song as one would expect, being that her mouth became occupied with other important things - occasionally broken apart by surprised giggles when the two came to their senses and _recognized_ what they were doing and what led them to this.

So when the Bellas asked later that week why both of their faces were _beet_ red when someone decided to turn on R. Kelly as a study-dance-break catalyst, they shrugged noncommittally and said, “No reason”. 

Because even though the beginning of that story was innocent, all the Bellas were five feet deep in work, and the end of the story….

Or the _lack_ of an end of the story…

Was, well, decidedly not safe for work. 

They didn’t much feel like telling their Bella sisters about all the remixes to the remix, either. It was safer that way, to say the least. 


	260. Cradle-Snatcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I suppose this is a prompt but also just like also maybe a headcanon; early in their relationship Chloe has a small crisis because she realises Beca is, like, 18 and she's four years younger than Chloe is and I don't know but the term "cradle-snatcher" is thrown around at some point. I don't know why but I can picture Chloe freaking out about that at some point and it makes me laugh. — sent by anonymous

“Oh my _god_ ,” Chloe whined into her pillow, falling head first onto her mattress with a slight bounce. Aubrey chuckled lightly, finishing her final dab of mascara, and in the time between, Stacie sighed.

“It’s not _that_ bad,” she said, turning in the desk chair. “She’s 18. So what? At least she’s legal.” 

“Oh my _godddd_ ,” Chloe groaned again, and this time Stacie was the one to laugh. 

“I don’t know, Chlo,” Aubrey offered. “If it’s freaking you out so much, maybe you should consider…like…. _not_ hooking up with the biggest flight risk with ear piercings that has ever worn the Bellas scarf.”

“Oh shut up,” Stacie said, “Aubrey just doesn’t like Beca.” 

“Beca is a _challenge,”_ Aubrey corrected. She had been trying, mostly for Chloe’s sake, to not directly insult Beca from the moment of meeting her at the activities fair to now, when Aubrey was nearly positive she was losing hair thanks to the added stress Beca brought to the team. 

This attempt to not directly insult Beca was, in itself, a “challenge”. 

“Seems like ginger over here sees her more as the reward,” Stacie quipped, only accidentally triggering yet another groan from the senior. 

“She’s pate team,” Chloe said into her pillow. When there was no response, she spun around, saying it again. “ _Eighteen,_ guys! _Oh my God_ , I’m just like my mother.” 

“I thought your dad was older than your mom,” Stacie said. Aubrey slapped her lightly on the arm, tutting and shaking her head, but was too late. Swinging her legs out from under her, Chloe rolled her eyes. 

“He is. The pool boy isn’t.” 

“Shit,” Stacie whistled. Chloe squinted, thinking, before sighing again. 

“I’m _disgusting!”_

 _“_ Okay, _I’m_ the melodramatic one, remember?” Aubrey said, standing up and walking over to Chloe’s bed. “That’s why we work. You’re level-headed and a bit of a push over. I’m melodramatic and a control freak.” 

“I’m not a pushover,” Chloe grumbled. Aubrey had started drawing circles on her back, and in that moment she wondered if she was, in fact, too old for the eighteen year old. Considering she wasn’t acting older than eight at the moment. 

“No, but you are craddle-snatcher,” Stacie joked, earning a stone-cold glare from Aubrey and _another “Oh my God”_ from Chloe. Loving the havoc she wreaked, she laughed to herself before sitting on the edge of Chloe’s bed with the other two girls, taking a deep breath. “She _is_ hot.” 

“She’s _your_ age, Stace,” Chloe grumbled. 

“Whatever,” Stacie’s hand wiped away the comment in the air. “The point is, you like her, yeah?” 

Chloe sighed. It was clear enough, at least to the two other women, what the answer was based on the look on Chloe’s face. It was starry eyed and thoughtful and not void of a touch of mischief. 

It was young love, no pun intended. 

“I really do,” Chloe admitted, her face melting into its signature grin within seconds. It was the smile that had been absent from her face for more than a few hours as this realization and the following breakdown took over the after rehearsal “girl time”. 

“Okay, then, eff it,” Aubrey said, surprising both the girls she was sitting with. Sitting back on her knees, she looked at them, shrugging. “Aca-eff it, Chloe!” 

“In more ways than one,” Stacie winked, earning another slap in the back of the head from Aubrey. For once, Chloe smiled. 

“You don’t think it’s weird?” 

“We’re in an acapella group in college,” Stacie allowed, “There’s no such thing as weird in this universe anymore.” 

“Just…Chloe?” Aubrey’s tone was enough to pull the attention of the redhead back. “Be careful. Just because she’s younger doesn’t mean she can’t break your heart.” 

Chloe closed her eyes, nodding slowly. This was something that she was _painfully_ aware of. 

“Also, I swear to God, if sexual relations with her interferes with _any_ part of our preparation for the ICCAs, I will fill up that riff-off pool and drown you both in it.” 

“That would mean you have two less Be–”

“Shush!” Aubrey cut off Stacie’s argument with a strike of her thumb against her neck. “Point made?” 

“Point made,” Chloe said quietly, the interaction enough to make her chuckle. “Four years isn’t that long…” 

“Your relationship could go to preschool,” Stacie said, and, again, after all the conversation that had preceded this, Chloe stuffed her head into her pillow and plopped down on the bed again. 

“Was that really necessary?” Aubrey asked, her whisper so forceful it was really more of a hiss. Stacie held her hand over her mouth, nodding. 

It took two more “Oh my _Gods”,_ one “That’s what she said”, and four more reiterations of the term “cradle-snatcher” before Beca texted Chloe - the ringtone being Titanium - and the redhead shot up, smiled widely, and took a breath like she had a weight lifted off of her. 

Clearly, the moral conflict she had about the situation had, “inexplicably”, been dissolved. 


	261. The Big Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe thinks Beca is cheating but she's actually been planning a big surprise for the redhead which gets ruined by a lot of snooping and detective like work. Cuteness and adorable follows suit as an embarrassed Chloe looks at what Beca has been working on for her — sent by anonymous

Chloe _trusts_ Beca. 

First and foremost, that’s what she would want any reader to remember. She trusts Beca. 

So, the fact that at the moment when we sneak a peek at the redhead she’s snooping through Beca’s computer is, well, not indicative of Chloe’s normal faith in her wife. 

In her defense, Beca was bad at keeping secrets. For someone who wore a face that promised some kind of strange, dark, and terrible past (note: it wasn’t ever really that strange, dark, or terrible), she really sucked at lying. She got nervous and fidgety - well, more than normal - and when Chloe would look at her suspiciously, asking once if something was going on, Beca would give the tell-tale sign that she wasn’t telling the truth: she would say no quite easily, but with a long, slow blink that helped her to avoid Chloe’s knowing eyes. 

And Beca was blinking long and slow as of late, so no one could blame Chloe for sneaking onto the girl’s computer, trying out eight different passwords _and_ restarting the laptop before finally cracking the code. 

Guett@. 

The very fact that Chloe figured that out was proof enough that she was close enough to Beca to do this snooping in the first place. At least, that’s what she was telling herself. 

Truth was, Beca was spending quite a lot of her afternoons staring blankly into her computer with a grin on her face that wasn’t derived from ungodly focus in mix-making. When she wasn’t doing that in the afternoons, it would be at night, curled up at the side on the bed - but not _on_ the bed - with her screen shielded from Chloe, who, most of the time, was asleep anyway. It was the caution, combined with the strange glee, that made Chloe worried. 

No one got that specific smile from Beca unless it was Chloe, texting her ridiculous emojis or suggestive grocery lists (Chloe had a knack for turning mundane texts into innuendos…it was and would always be something that _killed_ Beca). Not only that, but over the years, Chloe had worked hard on lessening that kind of protectiveness that Beca felt over her laptop screen. She’d felt not unlike they’d taken five steps in the wrong direction when Beca started turning her back towards Chloe, and then about a hundred when Beca clearly had her flirt face on in those moments. 

She looked over the desktop, allowing a small chuckle when she noticed the background. Chloe had dragged Beca hiking a few months back, complete with caves, or, rather, slight indents in rock, and the photo was snapped just when Beca had found a particularly fuzzy caterpillar. What was an overwhelmingly grumpy twenty something year old had turned into a toddler in that second, which just so happened to be the second Chloe decided to take a selfie. A selfie which contained Beca perfectly and unknowingly in the background grinning at a fuzzy caterpillar. 

The nerd. 

With nothing but ridiculous screenshots saved to the desktop, Chloe decided she had just enough time to traverse the webs of Beca’s folders. There was her mixes one, titled, knowingly, “Chloe don’t listen to my mixes w/o my permission”. And then there was her photos, which were aptly titled, “My face - apologies”. 

When she travelled over to the internet, searching through the history, was around the time she started feeling guilty for snooping. This was without a doubt an unprecedented breach of privacy, and if Beca found out she would _flip_. Chloe just needed to know…Her mind had a tendency of spiraling out from under her so that every worst case scenario replays over and over in her head until she is fully convinced that her best friend’s mother kidnapped her dog to Frankenstein it into some strange cre—

Bingo. 

Halfway through her train of thought, Chloe zeroed in on a site that _wasn’t_ a Bellas’ profile on facebook or a boring email link. 

What it was had the capacity to make Chloe slam the computer closed in shock, mouth dry, too preoccupied with comprehending the concept that she didn’t even think to clean up the desktop from her detective work. 

The front door seemed to open at the same time Chloe closed the laptop - a sure sign from the universe that what she did should’ve been… _un_ did. Only, there was no going back now. 

She read the words. She saw the site. The site _s_ , actually. 

She, without a doubt, had no fucking clue what to do with the information she just gathered. 

“Uh, explain to be why you’re hunched over on the ground next to my laptop,” Beca said when she walked into the bedroom. She was wearing sweatpants and a tank top, no makeup, and Chloe considered why it was she’d spent so much time lately exercising. 

“No,” Chloe said too quickly, standing up and realizing then how suspicious it all looked. She tried to take the tension down a notch by offering an uncomfortable smile, pulling a bit of a chuckle out from her lips. “Nothing. There was a dust bunny, I had to get it.” 

“A dust bunny,” Beca repeated, and Chloe nodded. She felt the palms of her hands sweat. 

When Beca lied, she blinked long and slow. 

When Chloe lied, her voice got impossibly higher, and she bounced even more than usual. She became a caricature of herself, and she could _feel_ it happening. She could feel Beca _knowing_ it was happening. 

“You saw,” Beca said, closing her eyes and sighing. She dropped to the bed, her hands flying up to pinch her nose. “I can’t believed you spied on me.” 

“I didn’t _spy,”_ Chloe argued, her voice raising to squeak. “I just…I was worried, Becs! You were acting all weird, and you weren’t telling m–”

“That’s how surprises _work,_ Chlo,” Beca argued, “The person doesn’t _know_.” 

“Beca,” Chloe said. She tried her best to steady her voice, to make it clear and cut cleanly, so that the message was clear. This was not the conversation she was meant to be having today. This was not the conversation she wanted to have after what she’d found. 

There were undoubtedly more important matters at hand. 

“There’s a difference between a baby and a surprise party,” Chloe said, and Beca threw herself so she was lying face up on the bed. Chloe followed, only, instead of falling, she did it slowly, nuzzling herself into the crook of Beca’s arm. “You were kinda going to have to tell me eventually.” 

“Well, duh,” Beca grumbled. “I was just doing research. Playing around with the _idea_. You know. If I told you I was thinking about it–”

“I would’ve gotten my hopes up,” Chloe finished, sighing. Her hand was wrapping the drawstring from Beca’s sweatpants around her fingers. “Beca. A _baby.”_

 _“I know,”_ Beca said slowly. When Chloe looked up, she was expecting to see gritted teeth, the annoyance from breaking private trusts still trying to seep out. Instead, though, there was nothing but a smile wider than the one that quickly spread over Chloe’s face when she saw it. “Did you know they sell red panda onesies for _babies_?” 

Chloe laughed. Her hand from from the drawstring to the opposite side of Beca’s hips, in a way, cradling her. “I see that the research you’ve been doing was very important…” she said mockingly. Beca twisted Chloe’s hair. 

“These are things I would want to know about before motherhood,” Beca said, “Especially if I’m pushing it out. I need motivation.”

“And the actual _baby_ isn’t enough for you?” 

Beca scrunched up her face in mock consideration. “Meh, it’ll do. I _guess_.” 

Chloe hummed contentedly. It wasn’t the end of the conversation, of course, there was still the ‘how’, and the ‘when’, and the ‘are you sures’. But Beca was considering it. 

She was _actually_ considering it. 

Smiling, Chloe considered it too. That is, until Beca slapped her on the side of the head, breaking out of their cuddle abruptly to grab her computer and establish distance between them. 

“What was that for?” Chloe asked, holding the back her head and rubbing it. 

“For snooping,” Beca answered, “You might be my baby momma, but you still go in the dog house when you do something wrong.” 

“Sounds kinky,” Chloe joked, and Beca rolled her eyes. 

“Everything does to you, you perv,” Beca said, and then, after thinking about it, “Creep.” 

“That’s _not_ my new nickname,” Chloe started, but by the looks on Beca’s face, it was _very_ much going to be her new nickname. She squealed, hitting Beca lightly with a pillow. “I can’t be a mom and be called creep!” 

“You should’ve thought of that _before_ we decided to have kids,” Beca joked, holding her laptop closer. Chloe scoffed, standing up out of be. 

“Well, sue me for not knowing. It was a _surprise_.” 

She had said it in the same tone as a three year old, complete with a tongue stuck out at Beca, and the brunette laughed, shaking her head. 

Children, they both were. Babies, to be more exact. What was the challenge of adding another one to the mix anyway? 


	262. The One with Chloe's Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca loves Chloe's eyes and can't help but stare at them all the time — sent by anonymous

She hated herself for how unoriginal it was. 

 _Everyone_ loved Chloe’s eyes. _Everyone_ commented on them. 

But as much as she wanted to find something smaller and sweeter to fall in love with - something like a freckle on the inside of her knee or a scar on the knuckle of her pinky - she couldn’t resist the pull of her eyes. 

They were like every cliche rolled into one and then blown-up like an inner tube into something that can literally keep you afloat. They were a cloudless June sky, and they were a Caribbean beach, and they were the way light sparkles on ice in the winter. And they were, also, so much more than that. 

So it started to make her angry when everyone complimented Chloe’s eyes. Men at football games that Beca’s been dragged to and cashiers at the grocery store when Chloe’s wearing just the right shade of blue. It took Beca tightening her hands into fists and biting her lip to keep from saying anything when someone offered out a “Wow, you’re eyes are….amazing”. 

Because they were not amazing. They were….more than that. And, as wrong as it seemed, Beca felt like she had some kind of…protective property over them. Like it was rude for anyone else to even notice that they existed, because they could never notice just how much or to what extent Beca noticed every single day. 

That in itself was becoming quite an issue, actually. The more she thought about those eyes and the impossible variations of them - the shade of them in the shower, and the hue of them when Chloe wanted Beca to drive her somewhere or the tint of them when lit up by movie screens in dark theaters - the more she stared at them, and it would be fine if it meant that she was still capable of listening to whatever nonsense Chloe was spewing at her. But the amount of times she looked away, stuttering and blinking and asking Chloe to repeat herself was enough to make the redhead think she had some sort of inability to maintain a casual human conversation. 

It was embarrassing. Apparently, it was also noticeable, because the amount of times Beca had been mocked by her teammates for staring was really starting to garner quite a lot of tallies. Chloe, though, never seemed to be aware of it. 

Or, she was just used to the staring. 

Either way, when it was just sunny enough in May for all of them to sit out on the front porch and Chloe emerged with shorts and a bathing suit top donning sunglasses, Beca almost scoffed. 

“What? Do I have something in my teeth?” 

Behind them, Stacie snorted. 

“No, just…uh….” she reached up and out, slipping the sunglasses off of Chloe’s face, the pad of her ring finger brushing lightly over Chloe’s cheek in the process. 

“Do you not like my sunglasses?” Chloe asked, confused. 

“I do,” Beca answered, putting them on herself. Behind the tinted shield, she could look as much as she wanted. Which was, admittedly, a touch creepy. But I feel the need to mention once more that Chloe was wearing short shorts, a bathing suit top, and now, officially, nothing on her eyes. 

There was a lot to look at, all of which would’ve gotten Beca sent straight a place of utter mockery if anyone else noticed. “I just want them for myself,” she lied. Chloe grinned, shrugging, and put her head in Beca’s lap. 

There was nothing she could do, though, when Chloe closed her eyes, humming quietly to herself. Stacie, knowingly, chuckled to herself, stopping only when Beca sent her a glare. 

She decided, then, that the action of removing the sunglasses wasn’t all in vain. Because now, with Chloe’s eyes closed and a shield to cover Beca’s stare, she might be able to finally come up with that more creative, original thing to fall in love with. A freckle on her lip, maybe, or the curve of her neck. 

What she settled with, though, wasn’t any more unique than the eyes. Because, with a painfully and overwhelmingly stark realization, she decided that the thing she was falling in love with was just…Chloe. All of her - the little bits and the big things, and everything in between. 

Which wasn’t going to stop her little staring problem, admittedly. But…the sunglasses _were_ a stylish and useful temporary solution, if she had any say in the matter. 


	263. Grease AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh well that's easy. Prompt: Grease AU - GO. =P — sent by redlance

Beca walked through the crowd of people at the fair, trying her best to turn what was an uncomfortable stumble into a confident stride. 

The truth was, her letterman’s sweater was incredibly itchy, and it let room for the wind to breeze through that her favorite cracked leather jacket never did. She was being picky, of course, but when it came to a uniform that she wore every day of her high school career, picky was expected. 

When her friends caught it, there was a moment of embarrassment before she leaned into her confident stride even more, opening her mouth to offer up some sarcastic remark before they thought her ensemble was serious. She had to remind herself that she was doing this for a reason - this uncomfortable sweater, the removal of all her makeup….it was all for a reason. A redheaded, blue-eyed _angel_ of a reason. 

That was enough of a reminder for Beca to smile, walking up to her posse to a chorus of “You’ve gotta be kidding me!”s and “Whoa!”s. 

“Hey what is this, Halloween?” her friend asked, circling her and lifting the sweater slightly. Beca caught the girl’s hand, throwing it off of her with a grin. A reaction was expected. More than expected, really, because Beca had mentally prepared herself for what her friends might say.

That didn’t much mean she _enjoyed_ having the attention thrown at her. Don’t get me wrong, she _liked_ attention. But attention for a sickly sweet white letterman’s sweater and a headband in her hair? That was something she would’ve rather have gone _un_ noticed, thank you very much. 

“Yeah, where’d you steal this letterman’s sweater, huh?” her friend asked, pulling her toothpick out of her mouth. Beca put her hands in her back pockets, sighing. She wasn’t wearing the ensemble, but she could still be calm. Cool. Collected. 

“I can’t believe it,” her other friend said, her voice edging on serious. “Beca Mitchell, turned jock?” 

Beca tilted her head, pursing her lips in an action that somewhat wiped away their comments, bouncing it off of her shoulders. “That’s right, believe it,” Beca said, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater. 

“What, you desertin’ us?” 

“Well,” Beca looked up at each of them individually, remembering her purpose here. Remembering why she was breaking the status quo, and who, exactly, made this particular conversation necessary. Red hair. Blue eyes. A summer spent on the beach. Necessary, Beca thought. So necessary. “You guys can’t follow a leader your entire lives.” The girls looked at her, silent, and Beca scoffed. Truth was, they weren’t her friends. Not really, anyway. Just acquaintances - people who dressed like her, walked like her, and therefore supplied her a place at the lunch table. She’d gone four years with a group of people fighting her battles for her, and she was grateful that that moody, stand-offish vibe worked to catch them. But that was over now. Kaput. “Oh, come on, guys. You know you mean a lot to me. But Chloe does too,” Beca stopped watching all of them, “And I’m going to do anything I can to get her. That’s all.” 

The girls didn’t respond. Not that Beca was expecting some eloquent speech, but she was at least preparing for some kind of commentary that would shame her into turning around and regretting any decision she had made to catch this wide-eyed girl. Instead, the girls just kept their eyes straight ahead, geared towards a small crowd of people with jaws possibly _literally_ reaching the ground. 

Beca had imagined a lot of situations where music swelled - piano playing, saxophone harmonizing - it tended to help with how she walked down the street or talked to particularly beautiful women. The music, though, was always accompanying something _she_ did. She never much experienced hearing music when someone _else_ walked on screen. 

Then again, she never much experienced Chloe Beale in an all black, skin tight outfit. But that would have to be remedied, and _quick._

It didn’t take long between following her friends’ gazes to recognizing Chloe, but Beca felt the seconds she took to eye Chloe up and down like one would feel _hours_ going by. Because every inch of Chloe’s body needed proper observation - from the red high heels to the impossibly tight pants, curving around in just the right places. Then, of course, there was the question of how Chloe had gotten her hands on Beca’s jacket, and why in God’s name did it look _so_ much better on Chloe than it did on Beca? It went in right where Chloe’s stomach did, so that it naturally led the eye up, up, up, to the place where Chloe’s lips, lined in red, were sucking on a cigarette. 

Beca prided herself on her ability to stay cool. Calm. Collected. When faced with 99% of situations, she’d grin, shrugged, possibly scoff, and walk away. This, though, was something new altogether. Beca’s senses were thrown into overdrive, her eyes popping out of her head like a cartoon. 

“Chloe?!” 

Chloe took the cigarette out of her mouth, her tongue following an outline of her ruby red lips. The music, then, heightened. Beca could _feel_ it pulsing in her chest. Piano and saxophone and anything else that had the ability to make her temples throb. 

“Tell me about it,” Chloe said, her voice as high and innocent as ever. It felt almost wrong to have Chloe’s voice accompany such an outfit, but the girly naivete behind it added a touch of something…exciting. “Stud.” 

Beca looked at her friends, who were just as stunned as she was, and then looked back at Chloe. Chloe, who’d spent the entire time they had together hunched up in skirts that swam around her ankles and bows tied neatly in her hair. Chloe, who needed to say just the right thing - act just the right way - when in front of just the right people. She was bright eyed. She was rosy-cheeked. She was prepared, and radiant, and so very very…. _good._

Standing in front of her in a leather jacket, smoking, and giving Beca a look that was so very very…. _bad._  

And Beca wondered, in that moment, what exactly Chloe was thinking about to be able to give a stare that was just that…. _thought_ provoking. 

_I got chills, they’re multiplying,  
_ _And I’m losin’ control,  
_ _Cuz the power you’re supplying….  
_ _It’s electrifying._

Beca wasn’t sure how, but her sweater had ended up on the ground. She was standing now in nothing but her black t-shirt and jeans, and the wind that was blowing softly was hardly noticeable, because Chloe was watching her without an ounce of reaction beyond completely and utterly satisfied. It felt _good_. It felt…well, striking. 

If she was capable of accessing her more basic senses, she would’ve seen Chloe fumble, unsure what to do with her cigarette and the effect that she was having on Beca. Looking uncertainly at her friends, she threw the cigarette to the ground and used the position to kick Beca lightly in the sternum, pulling her up.

_You better shape up,  
_ _Cuz I need a man.  
_ _And my heart is set on you.  
_ _You better shape up,  
_ _You better understand,  
_ _To my heart I must be true._

It was a simple outfit change, which by no mean indicating a change in dynamics. This much, Beca was vaguely aware of (though her powers of higher thinking were currently incapacitate). Still, she followed Chloe through the fairgrounds, recognizing that a letterman’s sweater and a cigarette weren’t what was necessary to fix the thing that stood between them. 

Chloe needed someone bigger than herself. She needed someone capable of holding her up, because statues never were able to stand on their own without proper support. She needed someone capable of making her feel color when all she saw was black, and someone able to bring a song into the silent parts of her life. 

Chloe needed someone to keep her going, to keep her pumping, and Beca knew that the base level she tended to operate on wouldn’t be enough. Nothing, really, would be enough for this woman made of collarbones and flawless skin, her legs pumping out beneath her as her smile spread from cheek to cheek. But Beca would try. She would be there, every step of the way, whether Chloe wore black pants or poodle skirts. Whether she sang the melody or the harmony. 

Beca would be there. 

Because she wanted to be. And because Chloe wanted her to want to be. 

Beca swiped her hair back briefly - more out of habit than necessity, and Chloe blushed, smiling. 

“You know,” Beca said, her hand on her belt loop as she walked forward to catch up to Chloe. “You’re the one that I want.” 

“Oh yeah?” Chloe said. Beca found that the lipstick accentuated whatever it was about her lips that were already hypnotizing, and she smiled to match them without realizing it. 

“Yeah,” Beca answered, and Chloe weaved her way under Beca’s arm. 

“Well, you know what I think?” Chloe asked, grinning cheesily. “I think we go together like rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong.” 

“You,” Beca grumbled, swiping Chloe’s nose with the tip of her finger. “Are _such_ a nerd.” 

Chloe stood up straighter, pursing her lips to take on the character that had drawn Beca in so successfully from the start. She cleared her throat. “Tell me about it, stud,” she said, in the same exact tone, and Beca laughed, burying herself in the crook of Chloe’s shoulder. She was shaking her head, covering her smirk, but Chloe got the message. 

She always did. 

Opening the car door, Beca let Chloe in with a bow and flourish that the redhead giggled excitedly at. With their friends surrounding them, Beca heard that music again. This time, less piano, and less sax. More…. _singing_. Cheering, really. Like they’d reached the end of their story and the beginning of their happily ever after. 

Revving the engine, Beca laughed when Chloe looked at her in a combination of scared and shocked. Underneath the black and red, Chloe was, at heart, the same girl. The girl who was innocent and sweet and clean….The girl who made Beca, inexplicably, _want_ to be better. 

They looked back at their gaggle of friends, the music in Beca’s head building for a moment as they waved. 

And then, they drove off, into the great unknown, the music fading into a small giggle and a shake of Beca’s head, like she always hoped it would. 


	264. The One Where She Couldn't Swim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you do a prompt where the Bellas are at the retreat and Chloe can't swim all that well so Beca jumps in after her each time to pull her out? — sent by anonymous

It was ridiculous, but not unexpected. Largely because everyone was accustomed to Beca’s capacity to do exactly what Chloe needed whenever Chloe needed it. 

At this point, it was almost painfully expected, and had lost every aspect of humor. 

Okay, not _every_ aspect. 

Because watching Beca jump in and out of the water every few minutes to “rescue” a certain Ms. Beale didn’t really get _less_ funny. 

The truth was, Beca was enjoying herself. The entire retreat was a bit of a stretch - “Team building activities” didn’t really scream “Beca Mitchell” - but over the course of the days, it couldn’t be denied that Beca started to like the games that Aubrey made them all play. 

Over the years, the Bellas had learned the difference between Actual Grump Beca Mitchell and I’m Really Loving This But I’ll Be A Grump Anyway Beca Mitchell. The one they were seeing over the course of this trip was, in fact, the latter. Because when you caught the right side-eyed glance, you could find Beca smiling from ear to ear or could hear her laughing louder than the rest of the Bellas. She was the one who needed this retreat the most - running ragged with her internship and balancing that with the team - which meant that she was the one _enjoying_ it the most. Even if she’d never admit it. 

And the water sports were quite possibly her favorite, largely because she grew up in pools and lakes around her house, so she knew every stroke and almost seemed to glow when she made her way under water. It helped, too, that the water sports were the most aggressive, whether they were trying to walk the bridge or jumping from the giant balloon, because the impact of the water was much nicer to them than the impact of the ground would’ve been. 

This differed largely from a certain redhead, who struggled so greatly with the water sports that she asked, quickly and quietly in the beginning, if she could be given floaties. Beca, of course, heard this, and scoffed at the request. 

“You are _not_ a floatie girl, Chloe Beale,” she said, slapping Chloe on the back and wringing the neck of the life vest. 

“Unless you want me to drown, I am,” Chloe said, swallowing her fear and turning around. “They’re accessories more than they are necessary items.” 

“Then don’t wear them,” Beca said, walking past Chloe to glare at Aubrey for a second. “And we’ll see how well you survive.” 

It was a challenge and a game for Beca, nothing more. Only, when she became aware of just _how_ bad Chloe was at swimming, the challenge turned more towards her. Because, for no reason other than Beca’s soft spot for Chloe and her weak will, she now had the responsibility to keep Chloe afloat - a thing that Chloe needed entirely _too_ many times throughout the day spent out on the lake. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Beca panted after the fifth “rescue” of the day. Chloe was gripping her back worriedly, but she still giggled into Beca’s neck. 

“Lifeguards have always been sexy, you know,” Chloe said, and Beca blushed despite herself. 

“Don’t distract me, woman, I’m trying to get you to safe land,” she said simply. The comments, however, didn’t stop with that. It seemed that Chloe’s only way of thanking Beca was by handing her uncomfortable suggestive comments throughout the saving process. Not that Beca was complaining - well, on the surface she was - because she genuinely wasn’t. She was just…well, she was just going along with what Chloe needed. Because every time she claimed this was the last time she’d help Chloe, the redhead would flail her arms, shout out over the nonexistent current, and Beca would come jumping in after her. 

Later, when they were in the tent, Chloe was wringing out her hair, watching Beca, who had just finished putting on a dry shirt. 

“What?” Beca said, turning around with a grin on her face. This was one of Chloe’s favorite versions of Beca - the one that was slightly self-conscious, aware of Chloe’s eyes, but still friendly and familiar. 

“You saved me today,” Chloe said, her sincerity earning a scoff from Beca.

“You really need to learn how to swim,” Beca answered, folding her shirt (or, rather, attempting to fold her shirt and ending up rolling it into a ball and throwing it into her bag). 

“Beca,” Chloe said quietly. She was scooting up closer to Beca, on her hands and knees over everyone’s piles of belongings, until she was just below Beca’s gaze, grinning. “I know how to swim.” 

“If that’s what you call swimming then—”

“No, Beca,” Chloe said. She was lying on her back, looking up at Beca, who was sitting on her knees. Reaching up, she tugged playfully at Beca’s shirt. “I _know_ how to swim. 13 to 15′s city champs in freestyle,” Chloe said, biting her lip. Beca’s mouth dropped quickly, her eyes squinting suspiciously. 

“You little….”

“Hey,” Chloe giggled, holding her hand up to block Beca’s mouth, “You _offered_ to save me every time.” 

“You _knew_ I would!” Beca said around Chloe’s hand. When the redhead didn’t let go of her mouth, she reached out, licking the palm. Chloe squealed, removing her hand immediately and wiping it on her pants. “You’re a weasel!” 

“Oh come on,” Chloe drawled, “When I saw you in the water, I couldn’t very well turn up an opportunity like that.” 

“Bullshi–”

“Beca!” 

Beca was leaning over Chloe now, shocked and giggling so that they made _quite_ the scene. She grabbed the redhead’s face, shaking her head all the while. “What’re we going to do with you?” 

“Oh you know,” Chloe said, tapping Beca’s face with the side of her hand. “Keep rescuing me.” 

“Oh yeah?” Beca answered playfully, tugging at Chloe’s hand. Chloe giggled in response. 

“Yeah.” 

“Well,” Beca said, her voice growing quieter in every letter. She was leaning over Chloe, hand on her cheek, and her nose was nearly touching the other girl’s. “That is something I’m a-okay doing.” 


	265. An Unfortunate Thanksgiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So if you decide to do some writing today - if you don't, it's totally fine, cause hello, Thanksgiving - but if you do, could you maybe write some Bechloe where they go to one of their families for the holidays and some of the family isn't very accepting of them as a couple? Because I feel like that's where a lot of us are today! Just please make it have a happy ending! — sent by jedifighterpilot2727

It’s not that Chloe’s family _wasn’t_ accepting. They were very open people, with a wide and varied set of beliefs, and Chloe had explained this _several_ times to Beca with that kind of paranoid repetition that accompanied slight exaggeration. 

Yes, they were very accepting. 

As long as you weren’t part of the family. 

The unspoken thought process - the one that most of the Beale family held - was that as long as you weren’t _our_ daughter, _our_ niece, _our_ cousin, then you were more than entitled to love who you wanted to love. Of course, it wasn’t always that explicit. There wasn’t a clear homophobia there, or even a vague sense of homophobia at all. It was simply a discomfort, accompanied by a soft sense of judging, that made Beca feel like she was always being weighed in some way or another. She felt itchy, almost, being around them, which only made her feel like she was losing it. Because the more itchy she got, the more she considered all of the things she was sure the rest of the family was thinking, and the more she considered those things, the more she did or said dumb things, which only enhanced what she was sure the rest of the family was thinking, and so on and so forth. 

And that was only based off the immediate family interactions. Beca had yet to meet aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents. That was until today. 

Chloe’s hand made it’s way to Beca’s knee as they sat in the driveway in front of her aunt’s house. She squeezed it once, lightly, and it pulled Beca’s attention from the space outside the window to Chloe. The family could say anything they wanted throughout the course of the night, but there was one thing they couldn’t deny, and that was Chloe’s beauty. 

That was, at the very least, safe from insult. 

“You’ll be fine,” she said, turning the car off. “We eat, we drink, we get out of there.” 

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Beca said. She unbuckled her seat belt and looked back at Chloe, sighing. “You’re the one under fire.” 

“It’s nothing I can’t take,” Chloe responded. “Besides, what’s alcohol for if not for family functions?” 

It was exactly that kind of thinking that led Chloe straight to the fridge the minute they passed through the front door, leaving Beca alone to greet the Beale parents, who were currently mid-argument, if Beca’s guesses were correct (which, as the writer, I can confirm that they were). 

“Beca,” Mrs. Beale said slowly, eying the girl three times before opening her arms for a hug. “So glad you could come.” 

“Yeah, well,” Beca grunted, trying to pull away from the hug too early, “Glad you could have me.” 

“It was hardly a choice,” Mr. Beale grumbled between sips of beer. Chloe had made her way back to her parents at the exact time of the comment, and her sweet smile was just flakey enough for Beca to recognize as fake. 

“Mom, Dad,” Chloe said, and the parents backed up slightly like they’d just been caught. 

“Chloe’s just pushy is all,” Mrs. Beale said with a wave of her hand. “It’s exactly that pigheadedness that makes it so hard for her to find a husband, in fact.” 

“I don’t _need_ a husband,” Chloe said, her voice sickly sweet. She walked over to Beca, handing her a beer, which Beca took like it was a baby dangling over a cliff. “I’ve got Beca.” 

“Oh, I know,” Mrs. Beale said, “Which is sweet. But that’s not going to get you walking down the aisle.” 

“Mom, Beca and I ar–”

“It’s cool,” Beca interrupted, smiling weakly. She clanked her beer with Chloe’s and semi-saluted via the green bottle before taking a sip. Chloe’s hand found it’s way into Beca’s, and she squeezed it. 

It was her move, small but clear, that grounded Beca every time Beca knew she needed it. It said “Thank you” and “I love you” and “You’re okay” all in one, and Beca breathed into this one with another sip of her drink, smiling at Chloe at the end of it in an attempt to communicate all the same things. Chloe tugged at Beca, then, bringing her deeper into the fray that was Beale Thanksgiving. 

Kids ran around them, an entire conga line of them screaming, before they made their way to where the other cousins Chloe’s age were standing. “Chloe!” the oldest one said, reaching around to hug her, all the while eying Beca. “I _love_ how you’ve done your hair,” she said. Her tone was the same as the one Beca had memorized during high school. It tended to communicate the exact _opposite_ of what was actually being said. 

Sure enough, Chloe winced at the compliment before pulling out a meager “Thanks, you too” and hugging the rest of the group situated around the counter. There were four of them, all older than both Chloe and Beca, and while they seemed to be in a deep discussion about someone’s new nose job, when Beca and Chloe made their way into the conversation, they all but stopped. 

“Guys, this is Beca,” Chloe said when she noticed the conversation wasn’t headed in any direction other than this one, “My girlfriend.” 

The family let out variations of “Hello” all with the kind of over-excited tone that implied later gossip sessions would ensue. Beca threw out a hand, waving, and took yet another sip of her beer. 

“So, what’s that like?” Chloe’s cousin asked. He was donning a football jersey and a poorly grown-out beard, but he had Chloe’s cheekbones. It was scary, really, to see all these poorer versions of Chloe walking around with various assets that Beca had grown to memorize. She found this one the scariest, though. This man was the same age as Chloe, by all appearances, and had the same kind of excited, innocent face. What he was saying made it all the more hard to comprehend, because he was craning his head forward in genuine interest, but he had a curve to his smile that was, almost, unwittingly cruel. 

“What’s what like?” Chloe asked sweetly, plucking the hummus from the center of the counter and crunching into a cucumber. 

“You know,” he said, his hand making it’s way to Beca’s shoulder in a way that was too friendly for a stranger. Beca tried to move out from under it, but it was challenging to do so without seeming rude. So she just grimaced and watched Chloe try her best to stay calm. “You and her. ‘Girlfriends’.” 

The word was complete with air quotes, and Beca was about ready to take the hand on her shoulder and snap it off. Instead, she counted to three and took another sip. 

“Fantastic,” Chloe answered. Her hand weaved around Beca’s waist. “Thanks for asking.” 

With that, they steered themselves away from the counter, and Beca could _feel_ the way they all huddled together to talk about the interaction. She was starting to feel that itch, and couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched as she walked throughout the room. 

“Chloe, Chloe, sweetie,” Mrs. Beale shouted out, waving her hands and racing over to Chloe, spilling her wine in the process. She had intercepted Chloe’s walk to her grandparents, and Beca jumped back when she nearly accidentally tackled the woman. “Glad I caught you,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “If you could….not….Well, if you two could just be less friendly around Gamma and Gramps, that would be….”

“Seriously?” Chloe asked, and Beca put her hand on Chloe’s shoulder, trying her best to perform that whole “grounding” routine that the redhead was so good at for her. Only, it didn’t seem to work, because Chloe had seemed to grow more than a few inches under the touch. “You want us to lie?” 

“Oh, no, not lie,” Mrs. Beale said quickly, smiling at Beca like she couldn’t hear any of the conversation. “Just, simply….put some space between you two. That’s all.” 

Beca learned quickly that night that the best way of dealing with these small jabs was with another sip. And another. And another. Chloe, too, followed through with this strategy, though to a lesser extent, and they had barely made their way to dinner before Beca started to fall asleep. 

There were moments of civility, and Chloe hated that she started to find those moments relieving, when they should’ve been more of a right and less of a reward. Still, it was in those moments, when everyone was avoiding talking to them, or when people’s mouths were too filled with flawed politics, wine, or stuffing to be able to say anything potentially harmful to them, Chloe found herself catching her breath. Steeling herself for later, when she’d need the strength to get through another family member clearly and purposefully calling Beca a “friend” or asking how, exactly, “the two of them got close”. She could count on both hands the amount of time Beca was caught choking on her drink out of surprise for whatever ridiculously personal question was being asked of them, and while those outright insults were painful enough, it was the underground commentary that hurt. The slight phrases and the twist of tones indicated so much more sting that anything that could be said between them. 

Chloe was almost constantly in contact with Beca, putting her hand on her knee or around her waist, as a way of holding Beca back, because she was sure the brunette was staying on her best behavior not without struggle. She was grateful, today of all days, that she had someone who cared enough to sit through what Chloe was putting her through. 

She was even more grateful, though, that she had a girlfriend who, when she finished dinner, didn’t bother asking to leave, but instead leaned in and whispered, “Want to go downstairs and play with the kids?” 

Sure, Beca was a little tipsy. And a little sleepy. And a little not-so-close to children. But still, the minute they passed through the barrier that was “adult” to “children”, it was like the air around them got infinitely lighter, and Chloe found herself smiling in a genuine moment of happiness when the kids decided to tackle Beca and sit on her with pillow shields. 

They spent the rest of the night down there with the kids, Beca having almost pulled a muscle trying to pick up Chloe’s nephew and throw him onto the couch and Chloe losing about a wig-ful of hair in all the pulling it was undergoing. When they finally convinced the kids to play hide and seek, they crouched in the space under the stairs and Beca held her arm out for Chloe to crawl under. 

“Thank you,” Chloe said quietly, and Beca held up her finger against her lips. Chloe pulled the finger away and pecked the lips instead. “Seriously, thank you.” 

“For what?” 

“Finding this sweet hiding spot,” Chloe said, “And being here. With me.” 

“Anytime,” Beca said, moving to kiss Chloe more. They sat like that for a while, until they heard a squeal and a giggle, followed by an onslaught of light that meant they’d been caught by Chloe’s baby cousin. 

“Darnit,” Beca grumbled, and Chloe thought that the honest switch of swear word was possibly the cutest thing tipsy Beca had done all day. “You caught us.” 

They crept out of the hiding place quickly, only to be tackled by the little girl and her mountains of giggles. “You two were kissing,” the girl said, pushing to keep Beca and Chloe on the ground where she’d tackled them. 

“And you _caught_ us!” Chloe exclaimed, burying her head dramatically in Beca’s shoulder. “I’m so embarrassed.” 

“Are you allowed to kiss her?” the little girl asked, still giggling. 

“Sure,” Chloe said, “She’s my girlfriend.” 

“I have…” the girl looked up for a second, considering something. Then, she held out her hand, waving it in Beca’s face. “Five girlfriends.” 

“Wow, girlie,” Beca said, grabbing the hand and using it as leverage for sitting up again. “You gotta teach me how you do that.” 

“You be nice,” the girl said seriously, “And share your toys.” 

“That’s how Beca got me,” Chloe said, her chin resting on Beca’s shoulder. She dug her chin into the space there, earning a squeal from Beca and a squirm. Quickly, Beca put her hand on Chloe’s cheek, holding her there as she turned to face her. 

“I wasn’t very nice,” Beca admitted, and Chloe giggled. 

“No, but you’re making up for it now,” she answered, kissing Beca once, quickly, but still earning a squeal from the cousin. “Thank goodness.” 

“Thank goodness indeed,” Beca grumbled, pulling away. Chloe couldn’t help but agree, wholeheartedly and with every fiber of her being. 

Thank goodness indeed. 

Thank anything and everything, really. 

Chloe reached out, grabbing Beca’s hand, and this time, Beca squeezed. 

It said, “Thank you”. It said, “I love you”. It said, “You’re okay”. And Chloe looked at her for a fraction of a second to say all of the above with one small addition. And that addition was, “Because of you.” 


	266. The One with Thanksgiving Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bechloe fixing thanksgiving dinner for the other bellas. Major fluff — sent by anonymous

Thanksgiving was, inexplicably and without a doubt, Chloe Beale’s favorite holiday. 

It didn’t much make sense, considering most of the things she cooked ended up being pans of charred ash, but when she woke up on Thanksgiving morning, she ran into Beca’s room as if it were Christmas, breaking the cardinal rule of the Bella house and waking her up before noon.

Granted, she _was_ waking her up via a hearty straddle-bounce technique that wasn’t too far from something Beca very well _could’ve_ been dreaming about only a few hours earlier, but _still_. It was far from acceptable. 

“What the fuck,” Beca said when she was awake enough to realize that she was, well, awake. Her hands immediately found purchase on Chloe’s hips, halting her excited bounce. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“It’s Thanksgiving,” Chloe said, leaning down to touch her nose lightly to Beca’s. She was already dressed, a neutral sweater having been thrown onto an oversized flannel, and her cheeks were rosy. Of course. A girl like her wouldn’t simply lie in bed on a holiday like _Thanksgiving_. 

“Thanks for pointing that out, but I distinctly remember Ashley getting me an acapella trivia calendar for Christmas last year. Point being: I don’t need you to wake me up to make these announcements.” 

“Shut up,” Chloe said, sliding off of Beca and sitting at the foot of the bed. “It’s _Thanksgiving_. And we’re all _here_!” 

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that too,” Beca grumbled. She reluctantly threw her covers off, sitting up with a grunt. 

They had a performance the day before, which meant there wasn’t any hope of snatching a flight home for any of them. Chloe was _delighted_ when she found out (and the Bellas were seriously considering the possibility that she had planned it that way), because it meant that their final year could be celebrated together. 

Which was only an issue because, as previously pointed out, Chloe couldn’t cook for the life of her. Stacie could cook some _killer_ Italian dishes, which didn’t much come in handy now, and Amy had skills with what she called Tasmanian Punch - which had the power to make everything taste good, admittedly - but when it came to an actual Thanksgiving dinner….

Well, there was only one girl who knew how to cook. Naturally. 

“So, I went to the store,” Chloe started, leaning back on Beca’s bed as Beca got out and stretched. 

“You went to the grocery store _on Thanksgiving_?” 

“I got there before the crowds,” Chloe said with a wave of her hand. It was laughable, really, the capacity Chloe had to meet such luck in such last minute situations. She was the girl who could get a room in a booked hotel hours before arriving, finish a paper the day it’s due, and, apparently, go Thanksgiving shopping on Thanksgiving. “But, anyway, I picked up everything you need. I think. You didn’t exactly make a list….”

“That’s because I’m not doing it,” Beca said. She was in her closet trying to find acceptable clothes to put on, but when she peaked her head out, Chloe wasn’t on her bed. Confused, she spun around, only to see the redhead pouting ridiculously at her from impossibly close. “Jesus, Chlo, a little warning next time you pull a Lilly and sneak up on me like that would be nice.” 

“You don’t get _anything_ if you’re not making dinner,” Chloe said, her pout adding a whiney stretch to her voice. “Come _on,_ Becs, think about all of us poor Bellas. Abandoning our families for the holidays just to have, what, Bagel Bites and Taco Bell?” 

“Sounds good to me,” Beca muttered, slipping under Chloe’s arm to get out of the closet. The redhead caught up to her quickly, though, and blocked her path to the staircase. 

“P _leeeeeeease_ ,” Chloe asked, hands folded in front of her. “Pretty, _pretty_ please with a cherry on top?” 

If there was one thing that roped Beca into anything and everything, it was that goddamned cherry on top. (The obvious joke here about a certain cherry-haired girl on “top” getting Beca to do anything and everything has been redacted for the purpose of classiness.) Besides, Thanksgiving was _Chloe’s holiday_. Who could possibly resist such a plea, on such a day, from such a girl? 

And while Beca had prepared herself for this conversation - even going to bed reciting that resounding “no” - she found herself wiping her brow in the kitchen no more than three hours later, maintaining what could only be called her Captain Voice while she ordered Chloe around the kitchen and gave her enough space to _not_ burn everything she touched. 

Beca learned how to cook from her mother. Or, rather, from having to take _care_ of her mother. Her father was always the cook in the family, that much she remembered back when they were the white-picket-fence kind of group. When he left, and when, for an extended period of time, Beca’s mom couldn’t do much more than get herself out of bed, the brunette was left to cook for herself. Of course, most nights Kraft Mac n’ Cheese sufficed a nutrition, but there were occasions when she got bored or tired or especially hungry, and in those times she had to get creative. 

It could be argued that she always had a knack for it, though. A genetic trait passed down paternally, leading her here, in the middle of the kitchen, with a horrendous apron on over the sweater she stole from Jesse post-break-up that reached down to her knees. It said “Cooking’s not my only skill” and was covered in music notes, and when Beca asked why the hell they owned it in the first place, Chloe just grinned and said, “Aubrey left it behind”. 

Occasionally, the other Bellas would troll in, normally looking for wine or a sample of whatever dish they were whipping up, and Beca would hand them a knife or a grater and get them to stay just long enough to get through one group of vegetables. For the most part, though, it was her and Chloe - who needed as much supervision as a toddler in the kitchen - which was to say…it was just her. 

Because not only had Chloe cut herself twice, but she also managed to drop an entire bowl of mashed potatoes _and_ spill flour over Beca (they weren’t even _using_ flour). It had reached a point where it was really more work to have Chloe “help”, so Beca sighed, took the mixer away from the redhead, and told her to take a seat. She had it from there. 

Halfway between making the stuffing and checking on the turkey, she noticed that Chloe was still around, swirling the wine left in her glass and sighing. 

“What?” Beca asked. She wiped her cheek, only realizing afterwards that she probably smeared more flour onto it. 

“Nothing,” Chloe answered in a way that clearly implied _something_. Beca took the rolls out of the oven and slammed them lightly on the counter. Squaring her shoulders, she eyed Chloe. 

“Seriously, what?” 

Chloe looked up at her, grinning. “You just….you’re really….like, sexy when you cook?” 

“Shut up,” Beca grumbled, turning around to stir the cranberry sauce. Chloe cackled then, scooting out of her chair. 

“I’m serious!” 

“You’re delusional,” Beca said, “And wine drunk. _And_ in love with this holiday.” 

“So what if I’m all three of those things,” Chloe said, snatching a piece of stuffing from the tray in front of her. “You’re a sexy chef.” 

“You’re no longer allowed to watch the Food Network, perv.” Beca was blushing, though. She swore that it was the heat of the oven, because the temperature of the room was definitely a few degrees higher than it had been earlier, and she put the final touches on the rest of the dishes with a tiny extra flair to her actions, like she knew she was being watched. 

Chloe was dispatched to set the table, then, with the help of Stacie who was the only one _not_ glued to the television screen. One by one, the dishes left the counter and made their way to the dining room, and Beca watched the parade of food she’d made with nothing short of exhaustion and pride. Thanksgiving dinner. 

She’d done it. 

Or, at least, she’d done it _so far_. 

Amy complained that the holiday was really based in flawed tradition that, as an Australian, she could never support. Cynthia Rose said the sweet potato casserole was lacking the sort of “finesse” that her mom’s had, and Emily just spent the entire time wiping away the tears from her eyes ( “I just never really thought I’d find a group like you girls”). Flo was just confused, Lilly had a plate filled with a tower of potatoes that she was just poking, and Jessica and Ashley had a nasty tendency of making porn noises when they tasted something they liked. But all in all, it went off without a hitch. 

If you count two glasses of red wine spilling, one sick Bella, and an argument about the vocal arrangement of several Christmas carols to be “without a hitch”. 

Beca looked across the table at Chloe, who was also sitting at the head, and lifted her drink. The redhead raised an eyebrow, lifting her as well. “Well, dear,” Chloe said with a smirk, “I do believe we did it.” 

“I reckon so,” Beca answered, sipping. The Bellas had quieted down enough to recognize the exchange and used the opportunity to start calling them “Moms”. Chloe shushed them, though, hitting her fork against her glass. 

“Now, kids,” she drawled, her Southern accent accentuated, “Time to go around the table and tell us what you’re grateful for.” 

Beca, of course, rolled her eyes. The response garnered a gasp by Chloe, who thought Beca would support the act, so she put down her fork, tilted her head, and smiled. “Beca,” she said, “You made the food, so you get to start.” 

Beca sighed, glancing down at her plate. The temperature in the house still hadn’t gone down. In fact, with all the Bellas in one room, it went up - as did the noise factor until this very moment - and Beca found her head reeling within the silence. 

She realized, then, with her stomach becoming full _very_ quickly and all eyes at the table on her, that this was what it was like to have a family. Maybe not all related - quite possibly dysfunctional in more ways than Beca could list - but gathered around out of a desire to be with one another and to share with one another. It was something that for more than a long time, Beca couldn’t understand, let alone take part in. So when she finished her exhale, she looked up at the table of grinning girls, and she scoffed, trying her best to play her answer off as sarcastic. 

“You guys,” she said, “I’m thankful for you.” 


	267. Opening a Music School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i love your minifics so much my heart hurts!!!!! anyway, how about beca and chloe starting a music school together? — sent by anonymous

“What’re you doing?” 

Beca’s hand was on Chloe’s forehead, and after a moment’s consideration, she removed it, glaring at the redhead. 

“Checking to see if you’re sick. Or deranged,” Beca said, standing up to put their plates away. Chloe turned off the television, then, turning towards Beca. 

“Beca, you _know_ we would be good at it.”

“Sure,” Beca said, “I also know I would be good at robbing banks, but you don’t see me traversing the tri-state area trying to break into vaults…”

“This is hardly robbing a bank,” Chloe argued. She was standing now, making her way over to the kitchen where Beca had already started doing the dishes. Sure, she was a few glasses of wine into the night, but if Beca tried to claim any of this was coming from alcohol, so could brush aside that argument easily. She’d been thinking about it for a while now, months actually, ever since her department had been defunded. Getting fired was just the icing on the cake needed to finally make a big move. 

“With what we’ve got left in our accounts, it would include robbing a bank, Chlo. There’s no way.” 

“Beca,” Chloe said, stepping behind her wife and putting her hands on her hips. “You’re a person who considers ‘no way’ to be ‘a way’.” 

“How long have you been waiting to use that line?” Beca asked, turning towards Chloe. Her hands were covered in dish soap, but it didn’t much matter. She put them on Chloe’s cheeks, pulling her in for a kiss. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Chloe said, pecking Beca quickly before stepping back. “You’ve already sealed the deal with a kiss. No going back now.” 

It was a ridiculously simple conversation, when Beca looked back on it. If anyone could turn a night spent watching made-for-tv movies with pasta and wine on the couch into a nearly impossible life project, it was Chloe Beale. That was the danger of having a fiancee like her - she could convince anyone and anything that miracles were something to believe in. 

Beca had let her guard down, admittedly. Chloe had been laid off for two weeks, was about to lose her mind, and needed something to believe in. More than that, though, was the fact that when she looked at Beca that night, the brunette couldn’t shake the feeling that _she_ was the thing that Chloe believed in. Like somehow having her name attached to the project would make it more possible. 

And, maybe there was some truth to that. Because her studio agreed to put some money into the real estate situation, in an effort to clean up their name after they lost what went on to be one of the top-grossing musicians of the year. With the investment, they felt safe enough to tell Aubrey, who spent three hours of their Skype time shouting at them from across the country about how dumb the idea was before she sent them emails upon emails of curriculum requirements the morning after. “It’s her way of showing support,” Chloe had said when Beca scrolled through the links in bed. 

Jesse, of course, was on board. While there wasn’t any question that Chloe would be the principal, they needed someone to help contribute ideas, and when the time came, a faculty was required to…well, function at all. He brought with him some of his friends from trivia night - a choir director from the local all boys private school and an art teacher from the Catholic school down the street. 

Then, naturally, there was months and months of research. Stacie helped with that, garnering article after article in support and in suggestion of the assistance the arts could provide to kids with learning and developmental disabilities. These were things Chloe knew - it’s why she wanted to start the school in the first place - but the articles _did_ help her case in front of the school board, and when it was time to start promoting the institution, the articles were being sent around the neighborhood like wildfire. 

She organized a few dinner meetings with students and their parents from the school she used to teach at - a few of her most promising - and most troubled - kids, which, for Chloe, meant exactly the same thing. Beca, who agreed to be by Chloe’s side for every part of this dream, wasn’t entirely all in until that night, when she escaped from the table and all the “adult” talk to hang out with the kids, who were playing Rock Band downstairs. 

“Those kids, Chlo,” she said that night, scooting back in the bed until her back hit the headboard. 

“They’re special, aren’t they?” 

“They’re….” Beca stopped short, shaking her head. “Babe, if this place existed when I was younger…”

“Shhh, you wouldn’t have met me, you dummie,” Chloe joked, climbing into bed too. 

“Well, that, but, like, who knows who I could’ve been?” 

And while Chloe wanted to tell Beca that she hoped Beca was currently everything she ever wanted to be, she also knew that the brunette was right. Half of the attachment she felt towards these kids was based in that same magnetic pull that Beca - in all her ear spikes and eyeliner - had had the first time she saw her. There was something they all had in common, and it wasn’t that romanticization of a lost cause that Chloe’s mom always told her that she had garnered for a bit too long. It was the amount of promise they all held, and the feeling that Chloe had that she was the only one who knew that secret. 

Opening day was in August, a week before the public school Chloe used to work at opened. The night before, Beca had led Chloe through the finished building - some abandoned department store in the middle of a historic neighborhood that was zoning _hell_ to figure out - adorned in christmas lights and pulsing with mixes Beca had made for the occasion. They spent the night in the main lobby, curled in blankets, so that by four am they could be up and preparing for the day that stood in front of them, and Chloe thought, lying and looking at the ceiling, that she wasn’t sure she could’ve done this with anyone other than Beca. 

Sure, the first day was hell. It always was - for the students, for the teachers, for the staff and the parents and anyone else involved. They ran out of gluten and dairy-free grilled cheeses ( “Those shouldn’t really exist anyway,” Beca grumbled when she found out), and one of the teachers didn’t show up at all. There was a fight during lunch that involved hair pulling, and one of the kids had a nervous breakdown that Chloe wasn’t entirely sure she was prepared for. Beca’s office wasn’t ready, and she spent most of the day sitting in the corner of Chloe’s, so that every time a new issue arose, she could put her hands on Chloe’s desk and say, “One. Two. Three. Just breathe”. She said it with such frequency that first day that Chloe had it stuck in her head like a song. 

It wasn’t until they were home - late, of course, but hopefully not indicative of the end of their future work days - that Chloe let herself fully break down, huddled under the comforter while Beca showered. The other girl stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam halfway through Chloe’s sob session and rushed to her side, holding onto her towel with one hand. 

“It sucked,” Chloe said with the kind of blatant honesty that made Beca winced. “It just _sucked_.”

“Chloe,” Beca said, running her hand over Chloe’s back. “Chloe, Chloe, Chloe. Hey,” she pulled her attention with her finger on Chloe’s chin, “You know how you’re a sucker for lost causes?”

“Yeah,” Chloe sobbed, and Beca hugged her closer. 

“That’s because you know that even though they start out shitty, lost causes always find their way,” Beca said, kissing Chloe’s forehead. “Remember, ‘no way’ is ‘a way’?” 

Chloe laughed despite herself, letting the chuckle mix with a sob and shaking her head. “How long have you been coming up with that one?” 

“Since you told me about this crazy idea and I knew a pep talk would be needed eventually,” Beca admitted, only to make Chloe laugh even more. “But hey, babe,” she pulled Chloe’s hair back, “Bumpy roads happen. Hell, I _was_ a bumpy road before you came along. You have a tendency to smooth us out, you know.” 

“Yeah?” Chloe asked, her eyes filled with the same kind of hopefulness as a child’s. Beca smiled, nodding. “Okay. But also, Beca?” 

“Yeah?”

“I like some of your bumps,” she said, even though tears were still streaming from her eyes and her bottom lip was protruding. Beca laughed, squeezing Chloe tight. “They’re nice, you know.” 

“I know,” Beca said, laughing still. “I know. Now, it’s sleep time. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.” 

“Day two,” Chloe sighed, wiping at the corners of her eyes. 

“Of many,” Beca finished, and Chloe nodded, confident again. 


	268. The Angsty Loving Yourself Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> could you do a prompt based off the this quote( kisskendrick. tumblr. com/post/126115248005/ilovekorrasami-kendriicks-but-you-oh-god ) but like have it where beca is in a bad place cuz chloe broke up with her cuz she thought it was for the best that beca grow and stuff on her own cuz she thinks that way beca will know how to really open up to others and i dunno? something like that? if thats cool? of course if you could bechloe endgame if thats alright — sent by anonymous
> 
> The quote is, “’You can’t love someone until you love yourself.’ Bullshit. I have never loved myself. But you…You I loved so much that I forgot what hating myself felt like.

Beca had never considered herself to be a reliant person. In fact, she prided herself on her independence and her ability to live without needing anyone to spur her forward.

She realized, though, that that was never really living. It was, rather, just surviving on autopilot. It was acting, breathing, going through the motions without thinking complexly about anything at all. Because without someone next to her, thinking complexly was dangerous and scary and not possible, most of the time. 

And, like a fish taken out of water, she never really realized that she was living inside of bubble of everyday autopilot until someone took her out of it. It was only after she experienced what it was to live for someone and with someone that she discovered she hadn’t ever really been living at all. 

Now it was worse, too. Because no one hates the night if they had lived without ever experiencing the light. Chloe took her, hand in hand, and led her into a place where she could experience all of that. And then she let her tumble back, without knowing how painful the grey darkness of her life would seem after she knew what life without that could feel like. 

Even cereal, she thought, looking down at the bowl she’d poured for herself that morning, tastes more bland. Even clothes, she thought, watching herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth, fit wrong. She wasn’t sure she ever really liked the person that she was - in fact, she was pretty confident in the fact that she hated the person that she was, most days - but now she _knew._ Without Chloe, she just became a shell. Good for listening, sometimes, when Jesse called her on the phone, like her breaths on the other end of the line were just comforting sounds of the ocean pressed up against his ear; good for looking, too, if you weren’t searching for sea glass. But not good for housing much, or taking care of. No one wanted to feed a shell without a hermit crab living in it. No one wanted to name, claim it, and call it their own. 

She understood the importance of this exercise. Chloe had explained well enough. She was to grow, to learn who she was and who she could be, without Chloe by her side in order for her to _get_ Chloe by her side again. 

Only she didn’t know how that was possible. Because she never really believed in the old idiom, “You can’t love anything before you love yourself”. And Chloe was always proof of that. She loved her - loved her so much - without ever really loving herself. What’s more, loving her helped Beca to know what it could and would feel like if she could ever stop hating the girl that she was. The life that she lived. 

There was music, of course. She was good at music, and she knew that. She always felt confident in music. It was always a good substitute in her pre-Chloe life for the redhead that made her feel like anything was possible. At least with music, she felt in control of something, capable of something, and when she listened over her mixes she thought that, maybe, she was worth someone’s time. 

She assumed that’s what Chloe meant when she told her to “discover herself”. Beca thought, somewhat jokingly, that it sounded like a bunch of cliched movie mantras. They were, after all, already sitting in a parked car in the rain outside of her house, and she knew how swept up Chloe got in movie messages. Only the redhead was crying, the quiet kind of sincere crying that she threw herself into when she was serious about what she was saying, and Beca couldn’t shake the feeling that she was losing everything she’d ever really known in that moment. 

“You’re too reliant,” Chloe said weakly, and it was like she knew that it was Beca’s greatest fear, because she said it and almost visibly winced. “That’s not…You’re…You’ve gotten vulnerable. And comfortable. And, Beca, I’m glad. Grateful, really, because the woman you’ve let me see if beautiful and amazing and wonderful. I just…I want _you_ to see that woman too. And you haven’t. At least, not yet.”

“I can pull back,” Beca said, her hands gripping the steering wheel, but Chloe just scoffed, shaking her head. 

“That’s not…. _God,_ Becs, do you listen?” 

Beca was silent, then, watching Chloe as she sorted through what she wanted to say. “You need to learn how amazing you are before you give all your amazing to me. Because I can’t….I can’t always reassure you, Beca. I just…That’s not my job. You’re in a bad place. Dig yourself out, because I’m not your shovel. I’m the hand that can help pull you out if you ever climb high enough on your own to reach it.” 

The result was three and a half weeks spent on her couch, debating the various benefits of making the journey to her bed. Jesse came by every three days to make sure she ate, and her dad called twice, upon the request of Jesse. Her boss called three times before giving up on her, and when Stacie heard that she hadn’t been into the studio in a week, she stopped by too. Only to have a shouting match that ended with Beca being lost to too much sleep one night and insomnia the next. 

She called Chloe twenty seven times over the course of those three and a half weeks. She left twenty two messages, fifteen of which were under the influence of her emergency bottles of alcohol stuffed under the couch. 

“Stop calling,” Chloe had said on the twenty sixth time. Her voice was cold, pained, and Beca tried to respond fast enough, but instead got caught in the sound of her again and lost the chance. Chloe hung up before she could even begin to find her voice. 

On the fourth week, she put pants on, turned the television off, and obsessively cleaned every inch of her apartment. On the fifth week, she went on a date with someone Amy knew from her jello-wrestling career, which meant that she put on lipstick and a bra, but didn’t bother to brush her hair or indulge in conversation. 

On the sixth week, she went to the movies alone, and felt, for the first time in half a year, the kind of worry you feel when you think people are watching you. It almost felt good. Right. Because it was the beginning of her beginning to begin to care. At the end of that week, she asked Jesse to go out with her to get food, and ended the night with a sober rendition of “Kung Fu Fighting” on the karaoke machine at the bar. 

On the seventh week, she braided her hair, went for a walk, and ended up in front of Chloe’s house. 

“Seriously?” The slam of Chloe’s car door was _almost_ familiar, and Beca spun around to see the redhead covered with bags of groceries. She jumped forward, stumbling on her words. 

“No…this isn’t…I wasn’t….”

“Stalking me?” Chloe asked, balancing the groceries on her hip and staring at Beca with as much bitter fire as she could muster. Beca bit her lip, scratching her head. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and thought about how she felt this morning, when she decided to leave her house. She had put on a yellow sweater, because, sure, her mom said yellow would never be her color, but Beca knew it was the only thing Chloe had never seen her in. It was the only sweater she could wear that she knew the redhead didn’t have an opinion for. 

She had made grilled cheese yesterday, because it was her specialty, and because she was hungry and could recognize the importance of feeding herself before hunger pangs forced her to do so. 

And just moments before seeing Chloe, she was humming the song she heard on the radio, because there was something in it that she couldn’t crack, but she knew if she focused hard enough, she could find the perfect song to match it with. 

She steeled all of these moments like hearts on a video game, letting herself grow taller than she was, and she opened her eyes. “I am on a walk,” she said, looking at Chloe without flinching. “Because it is chilly outside in my favorite way, and because my legs needed to finally fucking move. So if you will let me, I have to go. There’s a bench in the park with my name on it, and I’m on the verge of getting the most _perfect_ mix figured out.” 

So, sure, the words echoed with every step she took away from a very surprised Chloe, but she fought the voices in her head that told her to turn around. Not because she was bitter or scorned, but because she knew that there was somewhere within her that felt good about what had happened. There was somewhere within her that felt stronger because of what she had said, and she thought that this might be what living felt like. The kind of heart-thumping things that make you feel bad and good at the same time. 

It wasn’t an astonishing moment of grey to color, but rather the gradual seep of yellow into a wardrobe or green onto a plate that meant you were at least _trying_ to see color. It was allowing yourself, slowly, to say to your best friend, “I’m doing fine,” not because it was a lie but because there was nothing more to complain about. 

It was eating when she was hungry, and stopping when she was full, and allowing herself a beer when she got home because she had worked up a sweat and not because she needed to get the sound of Chloe’s voice out of her head. It was sleeping because she knew the next day would be brighter if she did, and it was texting Amy because she missed her and wasn’t wanting to practice the act of denying herself the opportunity to tell her so. 

And it was walking away from Chloe, from the person she loved more than anything in the world, because she realized she was starting to get a grip on herself and she didn’t want to lose it. It was the promise that _maybe_ if she could walk away with only those words echoing in her head, she might come to discover that she could start to see what Chloe said she’d been missing all along. 

And then, by the eighth and ninth week, it was trying to feel better because she wanted to, and not because Chloe told her she should. It was completing the mission for herself and not for the promise that she could fake it long enough to get the redhead back. 

She saw Chloe again the tenth week, in a book store. Beca was going through the young adult section, because there was something about that angst that she couldn’t quite get enough of, and Chloe was going through the romance section. Beca knew the moment Chloe walked in, smelling her perfume from across the room, but she only looked up from her book when she felt the stare of the other girl pressing down on her. 

“How’ve you been?” Chloe asked. Her eyes were brighter than Beca had remembered, her cheeks pink from the cold outside. Beca smiled up at her, shrugging. 

“Good,” she said. “Just stopping in after going to the studio, trying to find something good to do other than Netflix.”

“Tough task,” Chloe said with an uncomfortable laugh, and Beca nodded. “You…you got your job back from the studio?” Then, when she noticed Beca’s confused look, she explained, “Stacie told me.” 

Beca shrugged again, putting the book down. “It’s a new studio. I went in for an interview, so we’ll see how it goes.” 

Chloe nodded. She reached out, fiddling with the spines of a few books before sighing. 

“I should get going,” Beca said, standing, “I don’t want to interrupt your browsing….”

“Oh, no, it’s–”

“Really,” Beca said with a curt nod. She tried to pass by Chloe in the narrow aisleway but they both went in the same direction and laughed uncomfortably. After a second, Beca grabbed Chloe’s shoulders, holding her still, and walked around her. “There,” she said, saluting awkwardly. “I’ll see you around.” 

“Sure,” Chloe nodded, looking kind of surprised by the whole ordeal. Beca was halfway out the door when Chloe shouted her name, earning the hissing “shhh” of the bookstore owner. She threw out a quick “I’m sorry” face before catching up to Beca, smiling. “I was wondering,” she said, biting the corner of her lip. Beca smiled at her, squinting. 

“If I wanted to get coffee sometime,” Beca finished, and Chloe closed her mouth and stepped back, questioning. “That’s the same look you gave me the first time you asked.”

“Oh,” Chloe said, fiddling with her hair nervously. “Old habits die hard?” 

“Yeah,” Beca said, her eyes suddenly serious. “Yeah, they do.” She coughed, then stepped back, shaking her head. “Um, I think…Can I make you dinner instead?” she asked, and Chloe looked suspiciously. “I make a mean grilled cheese, and I’ve been working on this new recipe…” 

Chloe laughed, tugging at her coat. “Yes,” she said. “That sounds wonderful.” 

Beca nodded, backing up until her back hit the door. The bells on it rang anyway, and she waved quickly, pressing into it, but Chloe had jumped forward, hand out. 

“Beca,” she said quickly. “I’m….I’m proud of you.” 

Beca blushed, looking into the street for a moment. Taking a breath, she met Chloe’s eyes again. They were like the sky during the day, and Beca had always seen her own as similar to the sky at night. She realized then, though, that hers might be more like dawn, or the intersection between what was day and what was night - some mix of the dark with the light. She realized she liked that plenty, because, sure, within the dark you might never know that the light exists. But in the dawn, there’s hope for the light and memory of the dark. A perfect crossroads to stand. 

“Yeah,” she said, “I am too, actually.”


	269. Aubrey and "It's Beautiful"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Aubrey being there being like 'it's beautiful'" has to have a fic prompt in it somewhere, surely? — sent by gayforannak

Aubrey wasn’t a movie talker. It was something she hated most about Chloe - the fact that the redhead talked through _every_ movie, so that she _still_ didn’t know the full plotline to Legally Blonde. 

(She was _sure_ that it was also something Beca loved, because it offered distraction, but that was besides the point.)

She didn’t ever feel the need to comment on television shows, sports games, or movies, because it was all for the purpose of spectation. No commentary necessary. 

So she wouldn’t ever live it down when, at the campfire on the last night of the retreat, Beca and Chloe leaned a little too far into each other and kissed. Because Aubrey, the self proclaimed _non_ movie talker, tutted quietly to herself and said, “It’s just….it’s so beautiful.” 

Of course, that wasn’t the biggest issue with what was said. Because what she said also implied that she was in any way condoning a Bella-Bella relationship - especially _right_ before a worldwide competition. The issues romance brought to a team was unbearable, and she didn’t really know how she felt about someone like Beca dating her best friend, even though she’d gotten over most of her early misgivings about the girl. 

She just wasn’t in control in that moment - an absolute shock to even her - and the truth of the matter was that she’d spent the better half of three years watching the two of them get closer and closer. It was painful, really, and the outburst was not unlike the exclamation someone would make after a bone was set right again - relief, at it’s core, after three years of slow ache. 

Besides, it _was_ beautiful, with the firelight and the Bellas all letting the sound of the campfire crackle over them. So sue her for getting caught up in the moment. Sue her for letting a tear slide. If anyone deserved to be emotional, it was her. She hadn’t been lost in several Skype conversations about Beca just to sit there stoically as her best friend got what she finally wanted. She was proud and excited and overwhelmed and tired - mostly tired - so she decided she deserved that little moment. 

Only, when it came to Beca and Chloe’s wedding, with a glass raised for a speech, she wasn’t too pleased that upon finishing, Beca leaned over, whispering in her ear in an imitation of the voice that had haunted her for years after that little scene, “It’s beautiful. That was just so beautiful.” 


	270. The Nuzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, since you've basically become our mascot for all things bechloe + boobs, I have a prompt for you: Chloe and Beca sharing a bed (a common occurrence most nights of the week) and Chloe wakes up in the middle of the night to find Beca sleeping comfortably with her face nestled into her boobs. When Beca wakes up she's embarrassed but Chloe says something that results in Beca putting her face back there for the rest of the night and it becomes their new go-to position when they're not spooning — sent by anonymous

Beca was _not_ a cuddler. 

Let’s be clear on that. 

After a few weeks of sleeping with Beca - and _only_ **sleeping** with Beca - Chloe had to sadly confirm this fact. 

Beca was right when she claimed that she was not a cuddler. 

Because, my friends, Beca Mitchell was a _nuzzler_. 

She had convinced Beca night after night to just stay in bed after the other girl had fallen asleep talking to Chloe or trying to remix a song in the back of her mind, and the results, most nights, was a hand lazily pressing against her stomach or a few sleepy groans from Beca when Chloe tried to get out early enough to run. 

This night, though, Chloe woke up to a tickly against her throat - hot and sudden, just a short burst of breath that was enough to nudge her lightly out of sleep until she became acutely aware of the weight pressing against her and where, exactly, it was centered. 

She shifted slightly, hand on the back of Beca’s head lightly just to make sure she didn’t move so much that Beca would wake up but needed to get her arm free enough that the pins and needles spreading up it would cease to be. She felt, though, a sniffle, then a groan, then a few sleepy smacks of the lips. 

Chloe bit her lip to stop herself from laughing, wincing slightly as a giggle popped up. 

Beca, on the way to being awake, reached up to grab the pillow she was sleeping against, effectively turning Chloe’s half-giggle into an all out squeal. She clapped her hand over her mouth to cover up the sound, but it was enough to push Beca to open her eyes. 

Chloe watched as Beca’s face twisted from barely awake to completely shocked, and she scooted back on the bed, muttering and stuttering ums and uhs to herself. 

“Beca?” 

“Sorry,” Beca whispered back immediately, turning onto her back quickly with the blankets up to cover her neck, eyes trained to the ceiling. “Sorry, sorry, that was…uh…”

“They’re nature’s pillows, Bec,” Chloe giggled, her fingers tiptoeing across Beca’s shoulder, which was bare save for one spaghetti strap. She saw the shiver that spread down Beca’s arms - goosebumps all along the path she was making with her fingertips. Beca’s jaw was set, tight enough that when she swallowed, Chloe could see her throat bob. 

“Becaaaaa,” Chloe sang, her finger making it’s way up to Beca’s chin and tugging it so that it faced Chloe. “Seriously. I mean, you have better….cushioning…but,” she shifted slightly, looking down at her own chest and earning a prompt scoff from Beca, “Come on!” she laughed, “It’s comfy.” 

And while Chloe was entirely and completely certain that at that, Beca would back herself up and out of the bed, heading for her own, there were still times when her best friend of three and a half years proved her wrong. This was one of those times. 

Beca’s harsh glare and red cheeks melted into something softer, something that, much to Chloe’s surprise, was _considerate_. Like she was debating the various advantages and disadvantages of returning to the previous position where she, in no uncertain terms, _honked_ Chloe’s boob. 

Chloe watched her gaze travel down, biting her own lip to keep from bursting into another laugh at the way Beca looked almost sheepish in her thinking, until finally the hand on Beca’s chin moved to grab the back of the other girl’s head and, with an “oomph”, she pulled Beca into her chest, straightening her back slightly. 

“There,” she breathed, and under her grasp, Beca softened from her resistance. 

“I’m sleepy,” Beca grumbled, “That’s the only reason I’m agreeing to this.”

Which, yes, was probably very true. Because the Beca that Chloe was familiar with wouldn’t have even considered staying after, well, laying hands on her. 

But, no matter what Beca said in that moment, when Chloe went to turn off her lamp the next night, returning to an unusually chilly nose nuzzled into her bosom, the smile she felt blossoming against her skin hinted that Beca - at least this time - wasn’t close to being sleepy. 

And the afternoon following, when Chloe muttered that she wanted to take a nap, and Beca said she’d join her, maybe not to sleep but to think, they returned to the position without asking any questions. Sure, by dinner time, Chloe had woken up with a red mark that nearly _everyone_ was suspicious of, but that didn’t much matter. 

And when she got Beca a set of pillows for Christmas with a wink and a giggle, Beca simply blushed, shaking her head. “Still not a cuddler,” she grinned, throwing the pillow at Chloe to the sound of her squeal. 

“Still _not_ a cuddler,” Chloe agreed, holding the pillow up to her chest and shaking it slightly. “Just a fan of these flabbergasties.”


	271. The One with the Photobooth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I adore Beca's photobooth pictures because they seem like quite an un-Beca-y thing (at least compared to the 'Beca' she attempts to project) because those kinds of photos are pretty overtly sentimental, I reckon. So I would love a story involving Chloe, Beca and Beca's photobooth pictures collection, and maybe the way you can see their relationship progress through them, or wherever inspiration takes you. — sent by anonymous

She plucked them off the bulletin board slowly, with probably more care than was completely necessary. 

Downstairs, the girls were fighting over where they should hang up the most recent victory photo - they had a clean place on the shelf on the off-chance that they would win worlds, but then Amy suggested it be put on the wall with the other candid shots, and when Chloe likes and idea it takes all of the Bellas to vote on an official change. 

Of course, they had the _time_ to argue over these things. 

Because they, unlike Beca, were, for the most part, packed and ready to hand the keys over to Legacy. 

Beca looked over at the boxes scattered around her room, calculating just how late she’d have to stay up to finish it all. The other half of the room is white and bare, the exception being one box of mystery items labelled “Bloe” that Amy gave to Beca with a worrisome wink, and a duffel bag with Christmas antlers sticking out of it. 

“Shit,” Beca muttered. The photo strips were quickly sliding out of her hands, and she shook her head, attempting to regain the semblance of focus she had had when she unpinned them. 

The oldest one is bent around each frame, and Beca remembered folding it up to stick between her phone and her phone case every morning before she left for classes. 

It was silly, really, and every time she looked through the semi-transparent plastic, she reminded herself just how silly it was. She was dressed in the plaid shirts of freshman year, her star necklace sticking out on a bare neck, face arranged in a particular pout that Beca hadn’t seen in awhile. In each photo frame, Chloe was doing something different - the first was her cross-eyed with a tongue sticking out, the second was her lips pursed in a kiss, the third was her looking purposefully surprised, and the third was a smile, lazy and easy with an arm around Beca’s shoulders. There was a safe distance between them, and it was only in the fourth photo that Beca would make out the slight hint of a smirk at the corners of her lips, like she was trying her best not to smile. 

After a night of sleeping over at Jesse’s place, he would ask her why she kept it, and she’d shrug, muttering something about how Chloe would kill her if she found it in the trash. 

There was, of course, no way for Chloe to find out, and she was nearly positive at that point that Chloe forgot about the whole photobooth outing. It had been when Aubrey felt the Bellas needed to bond more, and the best place to do that, apparently, was in hell itself - the mall. Beca had groaned and griped and complained until the very _second_ she stepped into the building, and Chloe’s hand found hers, tugging slightly with a giggle. “I’ll be your fieldtrip partner,” Chloe had said, “To save you from the dangers of crowds and overpriced flipflops”. And while Beca never was one for photos, the prospect of a quiet, dark space - even one that you had to pay for…even one that lasted four seconds - was something she wouldn’t give up, so when Chloe started pulling her towards the booth, she relented. 

Chloe, though, had not forgotten, and the second time they went to the mall - this time to get shoes for Stacie who was currently experiencing a “fashion _emergency”,_ Chloe pulled Beca over again, reminding Beca of the first time with a waggle of her eyebrow. 

It was her sophomore year, and Beca’s wardrobe had shifted slightly so that she was wearing stripes instead of plaid - blue instead of black. In the first photo, she’s glaring, though there’s a curve of her lip and a distinct grin. Chloe started jumping in the second one - just a blur of red hair and green shirt - and Beca reacted by laughing. Not simply giggling, but all out cackling, a glittery gleam in her eyes so that by the fourth photo, when Chloe settled down, Beca had her face in her hands. 

That trip to the mall was easier than the first - less high-stress - and there was something about that set of photos that represented for Beca a certain freedom that really symbolized the entirety of her sophomore year. 

Free from images that restricted her in the year before, free from the expectations that push her in the years following. She was still young, she was still happy, and she was _light_. Warm. With Chloe by her side, constantly tugging at the piece of her that was better than all the others. 

They took another set that summer, when Beca visited Chloe’s beach house in Florida. Day drunk off of her mother’s mint mojitos, they wandered into the booth on the boardwalk, Beca wearing a bright red bikini covered by a light blue tank top that she borrowed from Chloe - very clearly lended, since it brought out perfectly the color in her partner’s eyes. Chloe was kissed by the sun. Freckles popped out on her nose, and sunglasses were perched on hair that was mussed by sea salt. Beca was almost as red as her bikini top, with a few of her own freckles to contribute. In the photos, they were in tune. The first frame, they both stuck their tongues out. In the second, their bodies faced each other’s while their faces were turned towards the camera, serious with lips pursed. In the third, Beca’s hands were shaped to be guns, and Chloe’s were up, claiming innocence. In the final photo, Chloe had pounced, stuffing Beca’s head under her chin so she could put a light kiss on the other girl’s forehead. 

The transition between the three strips were evident - sharply so - and Beca reached out when she looked at them as if she could _feel_ the change as it happened. 

She saw the past four years like a montage. A series of scenes where she changed, slowly but surely, into the girl at the end of the makeover. Makeup was wiped away, and with it the glares and stares. There were leftovers of each, but much of that room was replaced with giggles and grins that Beca found herself unable to recognize. 

Chloe knocked on the doorframe, leaning over the threshold. 

“Hey, aca-nerd,” she said, and Beca looked up from the photos. 

Chloe had changed too. Grown-up in a way that no one really expected she would. 

She was fearless now - or, at least, ready and willing to wrestle with her fear in a _way_ that _seemed_ fearless - and Beca found that to be so much more beautiful. 

“Jessica and Ashley are heading out,” she said, taking a step into the room. “They’re waiting for their captain to say goodbye.” 

“I’ll, uh,” Beca glanced back down at the photos. There was one more set, hidden behind the rest, and Beca was certain she hadn’t seen this one yet. “Give me a sec.” 

Chloe was standing at Beca’s desk now, fingers playing at the edge as she leaned, watching. 

The final set of photos was taken recently, by Beca’s guess, because she recognized the set of earrings Chloe was wearing as the ones she got in Copenhagen. Beca wasn’t in these ones, and the absence was evident, as Chloe took up less than half the space in the middle of the frame. 

She scooted closer to the camera than all the other ones, and in the first frame, she turned her head so that her eye was in the center, which she pointed at. 

In the second photo, she was back in her seat again - away from the camera - and her hands formed a heart that she put right in front of her face. 

In the third picture, she was pointing at the lense. And in the fourth, she had her head in her hands. Embarrassed. Or scared. 

Or some combination thereof. 

“Becs?” 

Beca blinked, hands trailing over the edges of the strip. Her throat was impossibly dry, and it wasn’t until she looked up that she realized how much her vision had blurred. “Chloe?” 

“The girls are…”

Beca held up the strip, and Chloe stopped talking, opting instead of a gasp. “Oh.” 

“You’re, uh,” Beca stopped, chuckling and wiping at the corners of her eyes. She looked up at the ceiling to stop her tears. “You’re a cornball.” 

“That,” Chloe started, launching herself off the desk. “Is not something _anyone_ disagrees with.” 

“Whatever, get over here.” 

“You know, I’ve got this grandiose plan,” Chloe says, walking even closer to the bed, her voice less wobbly than it had been before. Beca watched the cogs in her mind working. She thought, briefly, that it was a wonderful honor to be close enough to see the machine in action. “That involves us as old ladies taking photobooth pictures.” 

“Oh yeah?” Beca said, scooting back on the bed to make room for Chloe. She was snickering. “That might be a problem. Because I’m _never_ getting old.” 

Chloe grunted, pulling a face with her nose scrunched before she shook her head. “Tough luck, kid. That’s not in the plans.” 

“These plans are…” Beca stopped herself, looking up at Chloe. “Quite complex.” 

Chloe nodded, biting her lip. “You should ask me what the next part of the plans are, Beca Mitchell.” 

“Okay, Chloe Beale,” Beca joked, wiggling her eyebrow. “What is the next part of this photo-booth plan?” 

“Well, the last step was to win your heart over with that adorable photo strip,” she said, and Beca could recognize now the way her tone was uncertain even if her leaning closer to Beca seemed to be steady and confident. There was a touch of something there - some kind of hesitation. 

She grew too, Beca remembered. Able to wrestle with her fears. 

Fears like this one. 

“And the next one is to get you to kiss me,” she continued, nose brushing over Beca’s. “Though I’m beginning to think we’re going to be old ladies by the time that happens.” 

“Shut up,” Beca grumbled, grabbing Chloe’s cheeks in her hands. “You’re _not_ getting this on camera.” 


	272. The One With Luisa and Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a prompt, I think. Could you do something with the Leader (girl) of Das Sound Machine and Beca and how Chloe reacts and deals with it? I love these things you do, maybe you could start something on wattpad? — sent by anonymous

Chloe was shameless when it came to flirting. This was almost a warning that the other girls felt the need to share with anyone about to come into contact with. 

In fact, when Chloe friended Beca’s mom on Facebook, that was _exactly_ the text message that Beca sent her mother by way of warning. 

It wasn’t purposeful - though it wasn’t on accident either. It was simply instinct. 

So, most of the time, when Chloe was given the opportunity to watch someone _else_ flirt it was like studying a fellow artist do their job for them - entertaining, educational, and, at the very least, almost amusing. 

“Beca, what the _hell_ was that?” 

When it was Beca Mitchell, and it was aimed at a female, and it was done _so poorly_ that even Chloe felt embarrassed, though, the humor of the situation melted away in favor of curiosity, anger, and a touch - a _touch_ \- of jealousy. 

“What was what?” Beca shot back on her way down the escalator at the car show. She was walking down, her speed increased by the natural movement of the stairs, and it was clear enough that her attempt at fleeing the scene, flanked by the Bellas, was done with a tail between her legs. 

Or, like, something _else_ there. 

Like a toner, perhaps. 

“What was _you_  completely losing your cool over that Germanian Amazon princess of Genovia?” Amy added, her walk turning into a slight jog to keep up. 

“That was me trying to intimidate,” Beca said, her voice surly, “Or. Like. Whatever.” 

“Beca,” Chloe got into the seat without shouting shot gun, all the other Bellas having assumed she’d take it anyway. When Stacie bought the minivan for the Bellas, it wasn’t exactly the most glamorous purchase they could use their funds on. 

It was, unfortunately, useful. And entertaining, because whenever Beca drove, she had to spend a few minutes rearranging the seat positions so that she could see over the dashboard. 

“That wasn’t just you trying to intimidate.” Beca shot a glance over the center console at Chloe, and in those eyes, she saw an ounce of Beca pleading that she drop it before the conversation turn more painful. 

Chloe, for the record, wasn’t one to push when the other person preferred she stay back. She recognized boundaries - the _real_ boundaries, not the ones that Beca tended to put up that suggested she go right on ahead and tear them down - and she respected them when necessary. 

But there was something biting at a small spot in her chest where her seatbelt rested. Something poking her, pushing her forward, and if she had the courage herself to admit where the source of her passionate curiosity was coming from, this entire conversation would’ve ended a lot sooner. Beca, though, wasn’t the only one good at repression. And asking Beca questions meant that she didn’t have to ask herself them. 

“Beca Mitchell,” she squealed, trying to take on a more excited tone, for the sake of an atmosphere change around the entire situation and to mask anything else that might have hidden there. “Do you have a _crush_  on the enemy?” 

“The _lady_ enemy,” Amy said, leaning over from the middle to poke her head through the space between the front seats. 

“Shut up,” Beca shot at Amy, shoving her back lightly. She put the car in reverse and started to turn the wheel, lip bitten. “I don’t…that wasn’t…” 

“Your toner is so big, I’m surprised you managed to sit down,” Stacie muttered from directly behind Beca. Beca shot out a middle finger into the airways between the two front seats and the audience behind them, face settled into a nice, neat death-glare. 

“No more discussion, kiddos,” she said clearly, “I’m driving, which means silence until we get back, capische?” 

And it was adorable, really, how acutely domestic it was to see Beca driving a minivan and forcing the car to play the quiet game until one by one the sound of the freeway below them convinced them all to fall asleep. Chloe, if she weren’t so flustered, would giggle at it all, pointing it out and annoying Beca more. 

She, however, had other things on her mind. 

Tall, blonde, German things, and not in the way she was used to. 

Chloe was a master at flirting, which, naturally, allowed her to learn the signs of arousal relatively naturally. Blown-out pupils, increased heart rate, irrational words, flushed cheeks….

It was clear to even people across the room that Beca had exhibited more than one of those symptoms, and when they had walked away, she had her hands placed on her head, breath heavy, like she was trying to think away whatever feeling had been placed in her gut. 

And that, it should be noted, was something that Chloe was all too familiar with too. 

She just….she never thought that Beca would….

…With a girl who….

…Well, with _any_ girl….

In the silence of the car, she opened her mouth, feeling the air crackling between them. “She’s cute,” she said, and it was bitter, sure, but she hoped Beca didn’t catch on. 

“I’m not talking about it,” Beca answered in monotone. She had gnawed at her lip over the course of the car ride, and Chloe noticed the red patches left behind, accompanied by the thumbnail Beca was working on now. She reached out to take the finger out of Beca’s mouth and away from danger, pointedly putting it over the gear shift and wrapping her own hand around it. 

She’d been trying to get Beca to break that habit since freshman year. 

“Well, whenever you _do_ want to talk about it,” Chloe said, because it felt right, and more than that, it felt necessary. As if Beca didn’t already know, she needed to solidify her place as confidante. “Or if ever.” 

Beca’s face broke out into an uneasy side grin, and she tore her eyes off the highway for a fraction of a second to send an amused look Chloe’s way. “I’m not, like, in the middle of a sexual identity crisis.” 

“Oh no,” Chloe said, sitting up straighter. She breathed easier at Beca’s words. They weren’t right, really, and the conversation could’ve flowed in a completely different direction had Beca not purposefully diverted it, but Chloe found herself grateful. Relieved, almost, that the air between them was back to it’s mocking norm. “I know if you were, I’d be the _first_ you’d come to.” 

“Why is that, Beale?” 

“Well, because,” Chloe cracked a smile. There was the familiar feeling of butterflies itching in the space inside her chest, and she sighed into it. She was a master of flirting. It was a shameless instinct. And whenever it came back to control her actions, she felt guarded by it - like a shield, or a wall of sorts. Beca and her weren’t that different after all. “If there’s anyone who made you question your sexuality, it would _have_ to be me. Obvs.” 

Beca chuckled, shaking her head, and if Chloe were looking close enough, she’d see the way the brunette hand slipped slightly from the steering wheel. “Yeah,” she said, tutting her lips, “ _Obvs.”_


	273. The One with Protective Emily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily gives the "if you hurt my best friend" talk to Chloe about Beca, because none of the other Bella's know they've been sneaking around, prompt. — sent by anonymous

Emily had a nasty habit of not knocking when she walked into rooms. 

This meant, unfortunately for her, barging in on her parents one morning before church (before _church._ It was _God’s day_ ), walking in on her best guy friend and his secret boyfriend backstage in drama when she was a sophomore in high school, and completely delaying her cousin’s first time by accident. 

Of course, there were non-sexual moments that Emily walked in on too, it was just that these particular images were ones that….um… _stuck_. 

So by the time she walked in on Beca and Chloe (in her defense, it was in the pantry. And _no one_ knocks when they enter the pantry. Because they _shouldn’t have to_ ), she was _almost_ not surprised by the sight. This was a result of both being accustomed to walking in on people at inopportune, not fully-clothed moments, _and_ thinking that Beca and Chloe were actually a couple for the better half of the school year. 

What she found to be interesting over her course of interrupted intimate moments was that each and every couple she walked in on responded differently, and Beca and Chloe were no different, with Beca _throwing_ Chloe off of her, covering herself up, and shouting “Dude” before rushing to close the door while Chloe just stood, visibly disheveled, and giggled. 

It took five minutes and a lot whispered bickering for them to emerge from the pantry, and when they did, Beca’s shirt was still untucked, her hands behind her back. 

“Uh, Em?” she said, scratching her neck, which was splotchy red. “If you could, uh…not tell anyone? It’s….not public knowledge.” 

“Yes,” Emily said quickly. She stood up from the couch, hands out to placate them. “Totally, yes, mhmmm. My lips,” she said, zipping them shut, “Are sealed.” 

She proceeded to scurry out of the house, mostly under the heady weight of Beca’s uncomfortable stare. The girls weren’t worried too much about the emotional scarring until she missed the Bella Sunday dinner, sending a quick text to Beca about “too much homework ive been putting off”. 

“I think you should talk to her,” Chloe said as Beca scoured the fridge for a midnight snack.

“Why me?” Beca said.

“Because she likes you more,” Chloe answered. “She, like, looks up to you and stuff.” 

“That’s bullshit,” Beca snorted, “You’re, like, her hero.” 

“Beca,” Chloe’s tone was serious, and her hands found Beca’s shoulders, turning her around to make eye contact. “You _saw_ her when you asked to collab….”

“Doesn’t matter, Chlo,” Beca muttered. She swerved to get out of Chloe’s grasp, racing out into the hallway to put a foot on the first step. “I’m not going to give Legacy the talk.” 

“It’s not the t….UGH,” Chloe groaned in frustration, racing up the stairs to keep up with Beca. “She _knows_ what sex is, that’s _so_ not the point.” 

“You’re doing it,” Beca said pointedly, toothbrush already in mouth. “End of story.” 

More than a little uncomfortable with the coffee date she set that night for the next day, Chloe woke up with an empty bed already, hating that she missed the hour of dawn that Beca tended to sneak out of her room and back into her own. 

She loved Emily. She really did. The girl was a Bella, and what’s more she was like one of the _true_  Bellas - really the epitome of a good, spirited Bella woman - but she wasn’t lying when she told Beca that she was her favorite. 

Emily looked _up_ to Beca in a way she never could with Chloe. She hung onto every word, worked for every _moment_ of interaction. So when Emily walked into the coffee house looking awkward, scared, and a little tired, Chloe stood up straighter. 

What, exactly, she was going to say was beyond her. She caught Em’s eyes, raising her hand to call her over with a smile. 

“Howdy,” Emily said, slipping into the barstool easily, hands still firmly latched onto her messenger bag. “Blueberry muffin for me? Neato.” 

Chloe raised her eyebrows at the out of place adjective, but Emily didn’t notice, going straight for the muffin and snipping a small piece with her pincher fingers. “So, you wanted to talk?” 

“Yeah, uh,” Chloe started. She tapped the edge of her coffee cup before taking a slow slip. “You saw something and…I wanted to make sure…Well that you’re not uncomfortable or…” 

She waved her hand in front of her face, finishing her sentence with the flourish. Emily nodded, more to herself than to Chloe, and set her elbows on the table. 

“Right, so…I took karate for five years,” Emily blurted. Chloe, who had checked the time on her phone quickly glanced up, eyes wide and brows furrowed. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You have…um…You have a lot of friends. And Beca has the Bellas, but I just wanted to be clear since nobody knows…I could do some serious damage if you,” Emily coughed, swallowing her fear in favor of some faked courage, “Hurt her.” 

“Emily, what’re y–”

“Just,” Emily interrupted, eyes closed, “Don’t hurt her.” 

Chloe recognized the red blush rising up on Emily’s cheeks, the set of her jaw still determined, and she was overwhelmed with that same affection for Emily - the one that made her want to protect the freshman from the stuff that the following years would throw at her. The one that made her want to tell the other girl to make good choices, and the one that pushed away the desire to corrupt her via alcohol like a proper super senior should do. 

It was, at the same time, adorable and utterly ridiculous, this situation wherein Emily admired Beca so much she was willing to go through the struggle of threatening _Chloe Beale_ of all people. Chloe reached out, noticing how suddenly nervous Emily had gotten after she let out the words of caution. 

Carefully, her hand wrapped around Emily’s, and she squeezed it once. “I won’t hurt her,” she said, making sure to catch Emily’s wandering eyes by lowering her head slightly. “I promise. No karate needed.” 

Emily, for a few seconds, stared at Chloe, uncertain. Then, she let out a breath, shook her head, and broke into an embarrassed smile - the one Chloe was more than used to. “No, yeah,” she said, nodding furiously, “Right. Of course not. Right.” Her laughing stopped suddenly, though, and she glared so deeply at Chloe that she thought she could see right through her. “But let’s not be dicks about this, alright?” 

“No dicks here,” Chloe said, leaning back in her chair with hands up innocently, “That’s kinda a major point in this whole…thing.” 

Emily winced, chuckling uncomfortable. “Right. So….” 

“The muffin,” Chloe said quickly, trying her best to change the subject before anything else was said. Emily grimaced at the poor segue, and Chloe coughed on the accidentally crude image that was associated with her change. “You should finish it, I mean. We’ve, uh, got cardio…today.” 

Sure, Emily had a habit of not knocking when she walked into rooms. 

And Chloe, unfortunately, had a habit of letting silence linger after she’s been threatened by an overly enthusiastic, anxious college freshman. 

She just didn’t think that was a habit she’d ever discover in this lifetime. 


	274. The One with I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe and Beca have said 'I love you' so many times as friends that when they start dating they're not sure if they should keep doing it since it kind of means something else because of their new status. -hospital anon — sent by anonymous

The phrase “this feels weird” was something that Beca found herself saying a lot as of lately. 

Mostly in the interest of full disclosure, and partly because if anyone could understand just how strange it felt to be, oh, getting casually kissed on the neck by your best friend in the kitchen of the Bellas house, it would be the best friend in question, who, Beca was certain, felt the same sense of strangeness when favors like that one were reciprocated. 

So it became a sort of chant - one that Chloe learned to take with a grain of salt, because _yes_ it felt weird, but that was better than Beca saying “this feels wrong” or “this feels bad”. Weird wasn’t necessarily synonymous with negative things and, if Beca general reactions to the things Chloe did that _made_ her feel weird were any indication, the brunette didn’t much mind the weirdness of it all when all was said in done. 

In fact, Chloe would be so bold to say that she enjoyed it. 

Very, very much so enjoyed it. 

Yes, waking up next to Beca at four in the morning, Beca wearing her tank top or nothing with an arm slung around her waist did, in fact, feel weird. And watching her blush after she punctuated her request for Chloe to pass the salt with the word “babe” struck the redhead as bizarre. They were, simply, things that the two of them had to get used to - those miniscule changes in their relationship that just so happened to completely redefine who they were as two people _together_. 

It was the strangest, though, when there were things that _didn’t_ change - not technically, anyway - but inherently and obviously _felt_ different. Things like when Chloe waited excitedly on the living room couch for Beca to come home - something she always did, but now had injected with some kind of _distinctly_ different intent. Or when Beca stopped by the grocery store to pick up Chloe’s favorite ice cream before she came home. 

What felt the strangest, though, was the way they had started to sign-off their conversations. 

“It just doesn’t feel…like…”

“Sincere,” Chloe finished. She was sitting on the counter, feet banging against the cabinet, and Beca spun around, concerned. “Not, like…it _is_ sincere, of course. Because I _do_ love you. Duh. It’s just that–”

“We’ve been saying that for three years,” Beca said, “Or…like… _you_ have. I’ve been saying it for–”

“Two and a half years,” Chloe said proudly. When Beca gave her a confused look, she hummed. “You said it for the first time when you were drunk at the Halloween party your sophomore year. And then you hiccuped, held your hand to your mouth, and _literally_ apologized.” 

“Whatever,” Beca grumbled. She jumped up on the counter next to Chloe. “Be proud you got anything from me, woman.” 

“Oh, I got that _plus_ some,” Chloe joked. “Granted it took me more than two years but…Patience makes dessert taste sweeter.” 

“Okay, that’s _not_ a saying.” 

“It is _now_ ,” Chloe said. She had her chin rested on her shoulder, which was waggling suggestively. Beca sighed. 

“The point is, that was kind of a big deal for me. Like…getting comfortable enough to say that. And it’s weird now how that’s just…like it’s not….”

“It’s not a big deal anymore,” Chloe agreed. She slipped her hand on Beca’s knee, recognizing the shiver. 

She thought she could _hear_ Beca’s chant. _This. feels. weird._

Good weird, she hummed to herself, pinching around Beca’s kneecap and watching the other girl squirm. Weird in the way that was unfamiliar and exciting and still overall inherently…. _instinct_. 

“Not in the way it should be, now,” Beca clarified, “Like it’s supposed to mean something else, and I want you to know how much I _do_ love you…in _that_ way, it’s just….I get afraid that you think it’s not…like that.” 

“It’s the difference between a peck on the lips and…” Chloe gestured with her hand, waving it around her face by way of vague explanation, and Beca felt herself flushing.

“Yeah,” she breathed uncomfortably. “That about sums it up.” 

“So…” Chloe jumped off the counter, turning to face Beca with a clap of her hands. “Let’s…come up with something different.” 

“I’m not creating a code word for love, Chlo,” Beca muttered. “That’s just…too summer camp for me.” 

“Well it’s not a _code word_ ,” Chloe said, “Because you’re much too scared of that four letter word for me to ever excuse you from having the urge to say it. No. It’s more of a…clarification. For the times I want you to know I mean,” she stepped closer to Beca, hand on her knee to move it slightly so she could walk into the space between Beca’s legs. She ran her hands over the other girl’s thighs, pulling her closer by the small of her back. “I _love_  you,” she whispered in a low voice, eyes slightly hooded, and Beca swallowed thickly. 

 _This feels weird_. 

Chloe could hear it again, jumbled together with the butterflies she knew were transferring from her stomach to Beca’s, back and forth in a migration trail that was so strong it was almost _painful_. She took an unsteady breath, watching Beca pick it up easily and blink, trying to maintain her composure. 

Chloe, for one, loved the way Beca made her feel in these distinctly different moments. She’d wondered many times throughout their short and new relationship why the hell she had denied herself this thrill for so long. 

“And,” she said, reaching up to fiddle with Beca’s collar. She saw Beca’s throat swallow before she jumped back, standing on her tiptoes to press a short, light peck onto Beca’s cheek before chirping, in the most innocent tone she could muster, “Love ya!” 

“Well I think,” Beca said, coughing to clear her throat, “You just made the difference _very_ clear.” 

“Yeah, but if I do that in public, one of the two of us - or both - stands a high chance of doing something that could get us arrested,” Chloe said honestly, pursing her lips thoughtfully. She turned, finger on her chin, tapping out a beat as Beca tugged slightly at her collar, thoughts clearly in other places. 

“When you want me to know,” Chloe finally said, turning back around and smiling at the way Beca blinked away from a glassy-eyed look guiltily, wondering what, exactly she was thinking about and making a few guesses for herself. “You say, I love you. In  _that_ way.” 

Beca winced, scratching at the side of her temple. “That’s a little…” 

“Junior high?” 

Beca sighed in agreement, and Chloe shrugged. “So what,” she said, “it does it’s job of communicating very…non-junior high things.” 

“You’re dumb,” Beca said simply, hopping off the counter herself. She reached around Chloe for the water glass that was on the island, downing it in one sip before moving to head towards the stairs, “And I’m going to get to work now.” 

This feels weird. Yes. Definitely. Certainly. And the things that weren’t necessarily supposed to feel weird got easier as time went on until Chloe, with a shiver, realized that they were almost natural now. 

While other things never really changed, always filling Chloe with that burning shiver that was accompanied by the reminder of how far they had actually come. 

She got out of the shower twenty minutes after Beca did, because unlike the brunette, she was actually _intending_ to clean herself off and start out the new day, only to find writing in the fog that had formed on the mirror. 

 _Fine,_ it said, _I love you. In THAT way. Nerd._

And Chloe grinned, fingers lining the edges of the words so that she could memorize the scrawl that seemed, almost and impossibly, _careful_. Considerate. 

She opened the door to let the steam float out of the bathroom, seeing Beca perched on the edge of her bed reading the tabloid she’d bought in a moment of weakness at the store. “Hey, Becs?” she said innocently, one hand on the towel that was covering her, just in case. “I’m going to need you to explain something to me.” 

Beca didn’t look up from the magazine at first, more engrossed than she cared to admit, but when the mattress dipped under Chloe’s weight, she shifted, facing the other girl with questions in her eyes. 

“What, exactly, is ‘THAT way’?” she asked with a mischievous smile, a finger playing with the hem of Beca’s shirt. The brunette rolled her eyes, grabbing the finger Chloe was using and twisting two of hers around it. 

“I could explain,” Beca said, her voice no higher than a whisper, “Or I could _show_.” 

“Show,” Chloe said, her grin growing as she leaned back onto the bed, “Definitely, definitely _show_.” 

It should be noted now, of course, that “this feels weird” was _nowhere_ on either of their minds in that moment. Or in any of the several moments that followed. 


	275. The One with the Sexy Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CHRISTMAS/NEW YEAR PROMPT: The bellas always tease Beca about being too prudish and too innocent around anything sexual. She makes it her New Years resolution to prove them wrong with Chloe. A full week of loud sexual activity ensues. — sent by anonymous

Beca was not someone who particularly enjoyed being mocked. 

In fact, every time someone got the _slightest_ hint of teasing in their tone, Beca balled her fists, pursing her lips in anger. It was like clockwork, and it was unfortunate, because Beca, it should be noted, was _very_ fun to tease. 

The jokes had started long before Beca cared to acknowledge them - back when she was with Jesse and they went upstairs to her room, one of the girls would shout up to them that they better not watch the Sound of Music too loud…they were trying to get some sleep. 

Then, of course, when they broke up and Jesse was comfortable enough with his best-friend-turned-girlfriend, he made the grave mistake of joking _once_ about their sex life with Stacie, so that each and every time they went to get ice cream Beca had to endure the “vanilla” jokes for _hours_. 

And between lotions, candles, yogurts, and lattes, simply the _word_ vanilla started to piss her off by association. 

So when she started dating Chloe, naturally, the jokes escalated. With Jesse, it was understandable - they loved eachother, yeah, but the lust wasn’t too present, and any hint of bedroom eyes the Bellas were able to observe from their captain was, nine times out of ten, being sent straight to their favorite redhead. (The tenth time was, for the record, the one time that Amazonian German goddess walked onto the premises. That was about the only time the Bellas thought Beca was capable of anything more than just heavy petting, judging by the look she gave her during a rousing rendition of the Thong Song). 

And, okay, there was nothing wrong with being uncomfortable with sex. There wasn’t anything wrong with liking it a certain, specific way, and it was perfectly okay if Beca didn’t, in fact, enjoy thinking…outside the box. 

The problem was the teasing, and the effect that this teasing had on Beca. 

It was _too_ fun. 

And even though Chloe spent dinner after dinner _mortifying_ Beca by telling the girls about all of the _numerous_ reasons they should stop making fun of her for her prudish ways, the teasing never stopped. 

As I said, it was _too_ fun. 

So when they sat in a circle, fairly drunk and at the point of giggling, on New Year’s Eve, sharing New Year’s Resolutions, Beca made a decision. 

Albeit, a bad decision, but a decision nonetheless. 

“I’m going to prove to you that I’m a lady in the streets and a freak in the sheets,” Beca said between sips of her whiskey. Her mouth was halfway on the cup as she talked, so the words dodged a few edges, but if the Bellas reactions were any indication that they heard what she just said then…well, she might as well have yelled it. 

“Beca, you know you do—”

Beca put her hand on Chloe’s, bending her fingers around the palm to pull her closer. “Oh but I do,” she said, tongue between teeth. “And _you_ shouldn’t be the first to object.” 

Of course, that comment in and of itself was a rare sight of flirty Beca that the Bellas were unused to seeing, so the rest of the night, when Beca decided pretty actively to down two more shots and _stop caring_ about the fact that Chloe’s lap was significantly more comfortable than the floor, the Bellas spent most of their time with their jaws on the ground. 

Now, the Bellas were familiar with the house’s history. Or, at the very least, Beca and Chloe told them when they bought it that it was older than it looked. 

And throughout their Bella careers, they learned this or remembered this every time they heard someone sneak back into the house or tried to tell a secret. The walls were thin, the foundation fragile, so that even the slightest movement was a creak. Chloe had always liked it - thought it added personality to a house full of women who, technically, “make noises too”. 

They became painfully aware of it, however, in the week following New Year’s. 

Stacie got her first B on a chemistry exam because she fell asleep at the beginning of it and never woke up in time to finish. 

Amy had even deeper bags under her eyes that she pointed out every chance she got - mostly by holding bookbags directly under her eyes. 

And Flo looked like there was something from her past sneaking back into the present - jumpy but also althogether used to whatever was happening in the house, and no Bella wanted to stop and ask why for risk of hearing a truly horrendous story. 

“You’re being dumb,” Chloe said from the side of the bed, her back bare so Beca could count the freckles dotting it. “And stubborn.” 

“Chloe,” Beca said, squeezing Chloe’s shoulders, “If for every ‘Fuck, _god’_ I just shouted, you got a ridiculously suggestive comment at rehearsals, I’d say we’re even.” 

“Repeated ‘fuck, _god’s_ though?” Chloe said, turning around, “Like I’m _good_ but I’m n—”

Beca’s finger was one Chloe’s lip, silencing her. Slowly, she trudged her way over to the other girl’s lap, throwing one leg over it to face her. “Just because I’m not holding back anymore doesn’t mean I’m making it up, Chlo.” 

“You…uh…” Chloe’s hand trailed over Beca’s bare collarbone. She swallowed thickly. “You shouldn’t hold back…uh…more often.” 

At that moment, just as Chloe’s breath ghosted over Beca’s lips, there was a knock on the door. 

“Oi,” they heard Amy say, “We’ve voted, and you win. Now buy us all earplugs, because I am _not_ living my life like old Legacy and her Hard-ons of parents did. Your five-octave vocal range does _not_ impress me much.” 

And if there was one thing Beca liked _more_ than winning after being mocked for so long…

…It was Chloe Beale’s five-octave vocal range. 


	276. When the Ball Drops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Christmas fic request ... New Year's Eve. The ball drops. Beca just grabs Chloe's face. — sent by anonymous

**…10…**

For a fraction of a second, the world stops completely, and Beca looks over to Chloe. 

She’s jumping - she’s _always_ jumping, in one sense or the other - and it’s on the downswing that Beca realizes she’s moving in slow motion. Her red hair is drifting through the air like she’s underwater, and as her feet hit the ground, the number still on her lips, Chloe’s eyes shift over to Beca’s. 

Beca swears she sees Chloe’s smile grow wider, and it makes her chest burn. 

**…9…**

She knows that the rest of the room is moving now. They’re pulsing to a beat, bouncing with the seconds, but she can’t help but feel like her feet are being glued to the ground. Because whenever she tries to jump, she feels like she’s driving down a steep hill - her insides flying up while her outsides stay firmly planted. 

She thinks this is what the fizzy lifting drink feels like, maybe it’s what love tastes like. She can’t be sure. 

**…8…**

But it all builds into something she feels like she can’t stop. It’s an acceleration that moves beyond the power of braking. 

Her hand finds Chloe’s in the crowd, sweaty and hot and squished between several other people all stuffed into the living room of a frat house. 

**…7…**

And Beca can’t help but feel like when she pulls Chloe closer, she’s pulling herself one step further into a paradigm shift that will alter the pathway of her life. 

She’s not scared though - not in the way she knows she should be - because this feels epic and familiar all at once. 

Like an adventure without leaving her home. 

**…6…**

And she realizes that that’s exactly what this is. 

Chloe. 

An adventure without leaving her home. 

The old. 

And the new. 

All together in one. 

**..5…**

So she tugs at Chloe, even though she knows she shouldn’t. 

Because it is not her right to hog the woman who everyone at the party had been staring at all night. 

And because she’s had more than a few glasses of champagne, so the harsh edges of what she’s about to do become softer, hazier. 

**…4…**

She thinks she’s lived a lot of her life under the “Fuck it” ideal. 

She thinks that’s how she’s always dressed. 

That’s how she’s always talked. 

That’s how she’s always lived, only there is a permanent limitation on that motto, and it’s stopped her one million and one times from doing the things that she wants to do. 

**…3…**

So as the pressure in the room escalates, so does the pumping in her chest, the beating in her abdomen, the feeling of Chloe’s hand in hers. 

She lets her fingers trail up, from the veins in Chloe’s forearm to her shoulder. 

But the time it reaches her neck, Chloe’s turned around to face her. 

**…2…**

And Beca’s eye flit down to Chloe’s mouth, just once, just for a fraction of a moment within a second. 

But it’s enough. 

It’s enough. 

**…1…**

So she stands on tiptoes while Chloe leans down in heels, and with two hands on either side of Chloe’s cheeks, she pulls her close enough make contact, breathing in the taste of champagne and sweat and  _anticipation_. 

And it rings out the sound of the people around them. The shouts and the songs and the noises that are managing to slow down the passage of time. 

They’re frozen. Frozen and hurtling all at once. 

And Beca’s happy. She’s happy. 

She thinks that Chloe is too. 

She knows. 


	277. What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my other song prompt! It's for next week's holiday! Wouldn't one of our girls be deadly while singing "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?" — sent by anonymous

Beca’s phone rang at 3:47 am two days after Christmas. 

She was, for the record, just settled down to sleep and about thirty minutes away from properly dreaming, so the sound of her phone against her nightstand made her jolt up, the edges of her vision blurred with exhaustion. 

When she saw the contact, her thumb twitched to answer the phone on instinct, and the second she picked up, she heard someone on the other end clear her throat. 

“Chloe?” 

“Becs,” Chloe said. She sounds drunk - her words were soft around the edges and bubbling. “I have…” she stopped to giggle, clearing her throat again. It sounded like she was on speaker phone, and Beca could hear the static between her mouth and the phone’s mic. “I have a song for you.” 

It was hazy. Stitched together, almost, in the way that sound can be distorted through the tunnels and airwaves of phonecalls, but Beca could hear the sound of a ukelele starting up, strings plucked one after another and she sat up, her phone pressed against her ear. 

When she heard Chloe paused to take in a breath before singing, she held hers. 

 _“Maybe it’s much too early in the game_  
Ah, but I thought I’d ask you just the same  
What are you doing New Year’s  
New Year’s Eve?” 

Beca laughed quietly. She reached so that both hands were pressed to the phone, thinking somewhere in her sleep-rattled brain that she could _somehow_ get closer to the sound on the other end despite the miles that broke them apart. Thinking she could hold the music in her palms. 

 _“Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight_  
When i'ts exactly twelve o'clock that night  
Welcoming in the New Year  
New Year’s Eve….”

 _“_ Chloe,” Beca tried again when there was a lilt in the song. She felt rather than heard the hesitance on the other end, and she thought she knew there was a hesitant lip-bite happening somewhere in this ukulele rift, so she tried to speak up. 

Her voice was squeaky. Blemished and tired and unused after a week of holiday break. 

 _“Maybe I’m crazy to suppose_  
I’d ever be the one you chose  
Out of the thousand invitations  
You receive…”

But Beca knew the song too. Her father, ever the college professor, had a thing for all things pre-1950s, and that applied very strongly to jazz music. When he was home - or around at all really - he would blast the CDs in the car or play them over the record player, twirling Beca on his pointer finger. It was the only New Years Eve she could ever really remember as a _holiday,_ the one where her mother and father decided to stay home but dress up anyway. Each holding their own glass of champagne, they danced with each other, singing along softly to the song. 

She remembered that as she jumped in on the verses, surprising Chloe so much that the ukulele paused, stuttered, and came to a complete hault. Beca could hear over the sound of her own voice the way Chloe was reaching to pick the phone up from where she had positioned it to press it against her own ear. 

 _“Ah, but in case I stand one little chance_  
Here comes the jackpot question in advance  
What are you doing New Year’s  
New Year’s Eve?”

And it was true that Beca didn’t recognize the words she was saying until she said them, seeing with terrifying clarity what, exactly, was being said between them. From Chloe to Beca, maybe, but from Beca to Chloe too, because Chloe might’ve started the song but Beca finished it. 

She ended the verse with her hands on her lips, like she needed physically stop herself from continuing. She hadn’t realized that by turning the solo into a duet, she was responding to Chloe’s request - she hadn’t even realized, really, that Chloe was _making_ a request until that moment. 

But Chloe picked up the verse again, adding her instrument to it when she recognized Beca’s sudden silence. 

 _“Maybe I’m crazy to suppose_  
Id ever be the one you chose  
Out of the thousand invitations  
You receive….”

And Beca found herself smiling instead of being afraid about what this meant for Chloe and how that might’ve differed from what it meant for Beca. Smiling at Chloe’s voice and the sound of the ukulele. Smiling at the drunkenness that spurred such a phone call. 

Smiling at the memory of her parents, for once, and realizing that in her own way - in _their_ own way - Beca and Chloe were re-enacting every good thing about that image in Beca’s mind. 

They were repeating the kind of lazy, sleepy love that stretched one time between Beca’s parents, and they were re-enacting that giggling excitement that underlined those early years of her parents’ marriage. 

 _“Ah, but in case I stand one little chance_  
Here comes the jackpot question in advance  
What are you doing New Year’s  
New Year’s Eve?”

So they finished the final verse together, Chloe ended on a shaky breath as the instrument’s strings adjusted back to the quiet. Then, 

“I have ticket,” Chloe said, her voice more serious. Beca thought maybe she imagined the drunkenness. Maybe, this was just Chloe being Chloe. 

Being nervous. 

“Back to see you,” Chloe added, and Beca’s hands found their way back to the phone’s receiver, pressing once more against her cheek. “For New Year’s. I want to…I want to be there with you. To start the new year….A new us. For the old us.” 

Beca grinned, closing her eyes, and she thought understood what Chloe was saying. She thought she could read between the lines, so she sighed. “I don’t do anything on New Year’s.” 

“So do me.” 

“Chloe!” Beca squeaked, and she swore she could hear Chloe’s giggling swak in the background. 

“I just wanted to be a little more…forward, Becs!” she said, “I wasn’t sure you’d get the message.” 

“You called me up, singing, to ask me to be your New Year’s kiss, Chlo,” Beca said, breathing out once and feeling a weight she never really recognized being lifted from her shoulders. 

“Yeah, but I’m Chloe,” the redhead reasoned. “I do that stuff all the time.” After a moment’s pause, she added. “And you’re Beca, so you ignore it all the time.” 

“Not this time,” Beca said. She yawned, suddenly more tired than she’d been even close to before. “Be home before midnight?” 

“You betcha,” Chloe giggled. Beca swore she heard the other girl smack her lips against the phone with a very obvious “mwah!” “Can’t wait to see you, Becs.” 

“Yeah,” Beca said. She was lying back down, eyes already drifting closed, and it was nice - falling asleep to Chloe’s voice. It was nice. “Yeah, me too.” 


	278. The Bellas on NYE

Christmas for the Bellas was, most of the time, dedicated to family. 

Cynthia Rose visited her sister’s place, because she was always a sucker for her nieces and nephews, and they needed someone to play Santa. The night before was usually without fail when she’d pay her dues at the fiancee’s house, buttering up future in-laws with just the right amount of alcohol to get by. 

  
Stacie went out with her mom, celebrating what they both called “anti-xmas” by going to bars, playing up the mother-daughter card to certain creeps, and without fail stumbling home together early (and alone, because they might like playing the game, but winning wasn’t something high on their list of to do’s) to watch Hallmark movies until morning. Her mother had a pile of letters that her father wrote when he was sick - one for every Christmas until she was thirty - and she’d read it while her mom made a holiday breakfast. 

  
Emily was picked up by her mother a day early, heading to the cabin they rented over winter breaks to be with cousins who liked her slip her alcohol when parents weren’t looking almost as much as the Bellas did.   
Ashley and Jessica had been switching off holidays with the family for about two years, so much so that Jessica’s mom actually knew exactly what to get Ashley and Ashley’s brother had cleared out a space in the bathroom cupboard for Jessica’s hair stuff. 

  
Then, there was Amy, who visited her cousin’s brother-in-law and his friends in North Dakota, challenging herself twice to a hitchhiking adventure to get there and on more than one occasion ending up at or near the Mexican border.   
Chloe, of course, went home second to last, late enough to wake up to a quiet Bellas house and a text from her mother filled with emojis to express her excitement over getting to see “Little Red” once more. Christmas for her meant baking cookies all day, slapping any hands that tried to steal dough before allowing them - only once (or twice) - to take a tiny bit for taste-testing, followed by watching her brothers play whatever video game her mother had stood in line for that year. 

  
And then there was Beca, who travelled back and forth between the empty Bellas house and her dad’s place over the course of the break when she needed an escape from the constant open house that had become Mr. Mitchell’s home since marrying Queen of Suburbia: The Stepmomster Edition. While she spent her Christmas morning in a sleepy haze - muttering or grunting to parents that were ready to greet her with presents - she took her half-sister out in the afternoon to the park nearby, and it was only then that she felt ready and willing to take out her winter coat for the season. 

  
So, yes, barring a few complications, in their own way, Christmas was a holiday that the Bellas spent with their family. 

  
New Year’s, however, was a drastically different story. 

  
From the safety of her room, Beca watched as the house slowly filled back up again two days after the Christmas holiday. It was the same every year, something that Beca found herself looking forward to, because the minute she heard rustling at the door, she could tell who, exactly, had forgotten their key.   
And always, without fail, it would be Chloe, who would proceed to practically crawl into Beca’s arms, squealing like they hadn’t seen each other in months.   
“Your hair’s longer,” she would say, grabbing a strand of Beca’s hair and tugging it. “You look…so much older.” 

  
“Chloe,” Beca would answer back, pulling away from Chloe’s suffocating grasp. “You’ve literally been gone for a week.” 

  
They would have three and a half hours to themselves, just enough time for Beca to help Chloe lug her suitcase up to her room and listen as the redhead rambled on and on about the fight she got in with her uncle when he mentioned something slightly off the cuff about how acapella “isn’t a real sport”, folding the clothes she took out of her suitcase meticulously. By the time she was finished, like clockwork, Stacie would walk up to Chloe’s room without much of a fuss, filing her nails. 

  
One by one, they would come back, and Beca would feel some sense of budding excitement. Only… “excitement” wasn’t the right word, because that meant there was anticipation for something that hadn’t yet happened. What Beca was feeling was a kind of satisfaction…a kind of fullness that comes from being empty for too long, and it made her itchy. Bouncy. 

  
She blamed the fact that she was practically a hermit for a week with the exception of a eighteen month old baby as company. Obviously. 

  
Stacie tried, year after year with Amy by her side, to convince the Bellas to go out on New Year’s and ring it in properly, and most of the time, the Bellas would agree, putting clothes with varying amounts of sparkles and glitter, straightening their hair, and stealing heels from each other’s closet. It was the one time a year where Beca was willing to wear Stacie’s shirts and Chloe’s heels, and Emily camped out in Beca and Amy’s walk-in just exploring the options that were available to her. 

  
They would, of course, start drinking before getting ready, with Beca waking up in the late afternoon to the sound of champagne popping because, according to Chloe, it was a “holiday” which meant that normal rules for health and safety were thrown out the window. It was, quite literally, midnight somewhere in the world. 

  
So by the time they’d made it to eachother’s closets, Beca was drunk enough to take her shirt off in the middle of Stacie and CR’s room, slithering into whatever top Stacie provided and performed a sort of runway walk that she’d deny to the highest degree the next morning. Stacie would be dared to take off her bra without removing her shirt or using her hands, and CR would let out a whistle that made werewolves jealous. 

  
It set the course of the night, really, because from room to room the Bellas traveled, filling up their cups as they went along, until each girl was donning something utterly ridiculous and decidedly unlike themselves - Beca dressed not unlike a hooker, but maybe throwing on an ironic snapback in the process, tilted though not on purpose; Chloe dressed in a onesie, unzipped just enough to defy the laws of nature and make it, somehow, appear sexy, hair perfectly curled around the animal hood; Emily in Amy’s “exotic dancer” tshirt and Ashley’s pizza leggings, accompanied by layers and layers of Lilly’s mysterious gangster chains; and someone always had to use Stacie’s lab goggles as an accessory resulting in them being covered in lewd phrases by morning.   
This was all definitively before eleven, though it was clear enough that by the time that hour mark was passed, they wouldn’t be leaving the house - a fact that didn’t bother any of the girls, who normally stationed themselves in the kitchen to try their damnedest to make the most perfect plate of nachos and breaking three glasses in the process. 

  
By midnight, they’d built a blanket fort, made the dough for cookies - put sloppily into a bowl for all to share - and counted down the new year in harmony that would be eerie if it weren’t so completely perfect. Stacie would, of course, place sloppy, wet New Year’s kisses on everyone cheek, while Jessica and Ashley worked their hardest to remember any of the lyrics to Auld Lang Syne, and, somewhat naturally, a series of Dance Dance Revolution-type video games would be played that resulted without fail in Chloe performing a rendition of “I Gotta Feeling” which was, according to her, the New Year’s song of our generation. 

  
And Beca was never a sappy person. Or, at the very least, she’d fight tooth and nail against that accusation. But when she sat in the blanket fort with Chloe’s champagne and vodka breath covering her neck, she couldn’t help but feel like she was living inside a bottle of the sparkling beverage - popping and building and waiting to explode, but not in a way that was troubling or uncomfortable…rather in a way that promised something good and new and exciting to come.   
It was a good way to start a new year, she thought. Not that lying drunk on the floor of the living room and being drooled on by Chloe was a “good way” to start a new year but…

  
Being with the people that she actually found herself applying the word “love” to…Allowing herself to be an idiot, not because she was under any influence but because she felt safe enough to…And actually finding within herself a sense of hope for whatever the next 365 days could bring…

  
It was a good way to begin. Just as it was a good way to end. Feeling full and safe and hazy but satisfied. 

  
This year, sitting under the weight of Chloe’s arm, she turned to face the redhead, feeling the protest of Amy, who had her head resting on Beca’s abdomen as a pillow. 

  
“Chlo,” she said, nudging the other girl with her nose. 

  
“Becs?” 

  
Chloe’s voice was sleepy, strangled by the scent and effects of alcohol so it sounded as smeared as her eyeliner was. 

  
“It’s gonna be a great year,” she whispered, as if it were some sort of secret. The redhead hummed. She pressed a kiss lightly - barely touching - to the corner of Beca’s lips, letting her breath linger. 

  
“We’re gonna make it through,” she said, now more to herself than Chloe, eyes closed and breathing slowly. “If it kills us.” 

  
“Fuck,” Chloe breathed, and Beca was surprised, in her quickly sobering state, by the sound and harshness of the word coming out of Chloe’s mouth. She didn’t swear - well, hardly ever did - so the fact that she said it with her eyes still closed, lips smacking sleepily, was shocking. “Fuck yeah we are.” 

  
It was said with exactly the right mixture of fervor, apathy, exhaustion, and distraction that Beca was feeling, and she chuckled under the weight of her tiredness. 

  
New Year’s Eve for the Bellas was, always and without fail, dedicated to family. 


	279. The One with the Red-Bull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really love your writing! Can you do one where Beca is really tired and puts redbull in her coffee and is extremely hyper and bubbly (almost like Chloe), and sort of uncharacteristic. Finally when her energy crashes Chloe takes her to bed to be the big spoon for the night. — sent by anonymous

Beca was a coffee person. This was the first thing the Bellas learned about her when they all moved into the house, because on the first morning, when she emerged from her cocoon of blankets, Ashley made the mistake of trying to start a conversation with her pre-cup of Joe, and the result was an actual, literal _growl_. 

She drank coffee like it was water, and on several occasions actually rebuffed Chloe’s attempts to get her to be more hydrated by saying, “Coffee is just water and beans. It _counts_.” 

Only, there were times - terrible, terrible times - where coffee didn’t quite do the trick. And it just so happened that the entirety of Beca’s senior year was one of those times. Chloe, of course, pointed out that the reason coffee wasn’t sufficient in keeping her awake was probably due to the fact that she was running off of three hours of sleep over the past forty-eight hours, and Amy suggested that it was, without a doubt, all the cardio they were forced to do. They were both in part correct, because Beca _was not_ getting enough sleep, and while it wasn’t strictly the cardio that was the issue, balancing the internship and the Bellas was taking more out of her than she cared to admit. 

So, when Jesse was fifteen minutes late picking her up from work and she noticed the gas station across the street, she thought that she’d just go in for a bit of a pick-me-up. Nothing to big, possibly just a snack to refuel, until she saw the redbull in the corner. 

As said before, Beca was a coffee person. She was not in any way an energy drink enthusiast - always thinking it tasted more like sugar-urine than something she’d actually _want_ to put in her body - but as she’d explain later to a disapproving Chloe, desperate times call for desperate measures. And she had set a due date for herself for the Bellas set that she was not, under any circumstances, allowed to miss. 

Maybe it was the power of the redbull on such a small frame that was the issue. Maybe it had something to do with the effects of exhaustion on chemical tolerance. 

Maybe, and most probably, it was these two things blended with the fact that Beca had made the admittedly dumb decision of pouring it into the to-go mug of coffee she was nursing on all day. 

Either way, it only took the carride home for her knee to start bouncing up and down, and she swore the colors of the trees outside were unusually green for this time of the year. 

“You okay, Becs?” Jesse asked, looking over at her leg, which was beginning to set a rhythm to the entire car. Beca jumped at the sound of his voice, nodding furiously as a response. 

“Totally _totally_ fine,” she said quickly, throwing out a weak smile between snarled teeth. “Totes. Totes Mcgotes. Fit as a fiddle, as they say.” 

Jesse glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, throwing his hand out to feel her temperature. “No more clammy than usual, m’lady,” he said, earning a quick and slightly more forceful than necessary slap. 

“I’m not clammy.” 

“You are,” he said, “I dated you for three and a half years. Many a’clammy hand I have held.” 

By the time she made it to the Bella house, she could feel her heartbeat in her ears, and very much enjoyed the way it matched the song that was incessantly running in her head. She opened the door so that it slammed against the opposite wall, giggling before letting out a breathy, “Whoopsies.” 

“Beca?” Chloe asked from the couch. Her legs were hanging over the edge of the armrest, and when she strained her neck, Beca could just start to see her forehead. 

“Hello hello hello,” Beca hummed. She would later not admit to the verb I’m about to use to describe her movements, but in the journey from the door to Chloe’s position on the couch, Beca actually _skipped_. “How is my shining light of a co-captian?” 

“Confused,” Chloe said immediately. Beca’s hands had quickly found their way to Chloe’s shoulder blades, pressing in circles as she talked, and it was enough to make Chloe pull back, eyes trailing over Beca. “Who are you and what happened to Beca?”

“Hardy har har,” Beca said, hopping over the couch. She tugged Chloe slightly, pulling her close though the cuddle was ruined by the way her fingers were knocking out a beat on Chloe’s inner forearm. “I’m just…. _awake.”_

 _“_ You certainly are,” Chloe hummed. She held her hand to Beca’s bouncing one, stopping the movement for a second. “How many cups today, my dear?” 

“Nuh uh,” Beca said, shaking her head. She mimed zipping her mouth closed and continued her finger-bouncing. Chloe shifted, sitting up slightly. 

“How many?”

“’S’a secret,” Beca whispered loudly. She hopped off the couch, then, turning quickly to face Chloe. “I’m making waffles. It’s been forever since we’ve had waffles. Bella bonding dinner? Or…brinner. It would be brinner, wouldn’t it, if it was breakfast for dinner…”

“Beca,” Chloe cautioned, but Beca had already fled the scene, her skip-walk gaining speed as she made her way through the kitchen. 

The other Bellas had walked in and out of the tornado of flour and batter that was becoming their home as Beca cooked, each staying for long enough to get weirded out by Beca’s chipperness, ask Chloe what was happening, and leave. Amy assumed that Beca finally lost it and went to that dealer in the alley behind the gym, and Cynthia Rose actually put money on the suggestion. 

Stacie said she finally “got some” and the result was a natural increase in serotonin. 

Emily giggled, attempted to keep up with Beca by throwing out a few ridiculously _un_ funny baking puns, and, eventually, getting too exhausted by Beca’s constant breaking out in song to stay. She did, however, out last most of the other girls. 

“Beca,” Chloe said, grabbing the bag of flour for the fourth time. “I pour. You’re too…shaky.” 

“Thank you,” Beca chirped - yes, _chirped_  - in response, spinning until she found her way to the sink and turning it on to the tune of “It’s Raining Men”. 

“Chloe,” Amy said from the door, “I love you even though you’re a ginger, but I will not live with two of you in one house. Fix her.” 

“I don’t know what…” Chloe turned the sink off when Beca left it without twisting the faucet. “I don’t know why she’s like this.” 

“Because I’m _happy_ ,” Beca said from the freezer she was bending down in. “That’s why.” 

“Beca Mitchell doesn’t _get_ happy,” Amy said from the doorway, “Unless Chloe Beale gives her bedroom eyes. And that’s not happy that’s–”

“I don’t give Beca bedroom eyes,” Chloe said quickly, her voice a hushed whisper, but Amy only shrugged, beginning to walk out of the room. 

“I’m only saying by way of observation,” Amy said, “But either way, fix her.” 

Chloe, it should be said, recognized the change in Beca’s demeanor almost immediately, and while she wasn’t opposed to singing Christmas carols in October - it was actually one of her favorite past-times - she knew that she could gain much enjoyment at this distinctly Chloe-like Beca when she was missing…well…the Beca-like Beca. 

The Beca who was happy - unabashedly so - but didn’t need to sing like a Disney princess to prove the point. 

Which, okay, so Chloe did that. And most of the other things that Beca was doing at the moment. And okay, so Chloe found Beca slightly annoying right now. 

She simply assumed she wore this kind of cracked-out energy better than Beca did, or at the very least had been more used to it. 

Regardless, she stayed in the kitchen for the four hours that Beca spent being a whirling dervish - making cookies, waffles, and a batch of dough that wasn’t clearly being saved for anything in particular, but tasted good, at least. Throughout the time, she took away knives twice from Beca, slipped the bottle of wine that Beca had taken out _back_ into the cupboard, and turned down the stereo. Not to mention the three times she asked various Bellas to search Beca’s bag on the off chance that something illegal _was_ being used to bring out this side of her. 

It wasn’t until they were cleaning up that Stacie cleared her throat, back pressed against the fridge. She was holding up a can of Redbull between two fingers and staring pointedly at Chloe. “Found the culprit.” 

“Oh my _God_ ,” Chloe said, snatching the can from Stacie and turning to face Beca, who was already looking at her with eyes wider than a cartoons. “You _know_ how bad this is for you??” 

“I was tired!” Beca said, taking the can from Chloe and trying her best to crush it. 

“So sleep!” 

“I don’t want to,” Beca grumbled. She looked around the room, her hand waving absently over the granite countertops. “I _didn’t_ want to.” 

Chloe closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And you do now?” 

Beca bit her lip. “I’m like 98% sure I’m crashing.” She breathed out of her nose, a sudden burst of tears cropping up from behind her eyes. “Like fast.” 

“Okay,” Chloe said. She hopped off the countertop that she was sitting on, grabbing Beca by the elbows. “Let’s go sleep.” 

“It’s 7:30,” Beca argued, but Chloe tutted, already heading towards the stairs. 

“You need it.” 

“I won’t be able to,” Beca continued, “Not if I know there’s stuff I need to do tha–”

“I’m joining you,” Chloe said simply. Their footsteps creaked on the stairs, and Chloe was overwhelmed with the idea that Beca’s weight was starting to press into hers. 

Crashing quickly, indeed. 

“What?” 

“Taking care of a Me all day can make a girl exhausted,” Chloe said jokingly. She let go of Beca’s arms when they made their way into Beca’s room, plopping down on her bed so that she bounced slightly on the mattress. 

“Tell me about it,” Beca grumbled, and Chloe threw a pillow her way, narrowly missing. “You’ve driven me to energy supplements, I’ll have you know.” 

“You did that to yourself,” Chloe said. She scooted closer to the wall as Beca slipped her bra off from under her work clothes and sank under the covers. She sat, staring at the ceiling, fighting the way her eyelids were slowly turning to led. 

Chloe poked her shoulder, nudging her to the side. “Turn over.” 

“What?” 

“Turn,” Chloe said, nudging again, “Over. We’re cuddling.” 

“We’re _not_ cuddling.” 

“You want to,” Chloe argued, “I can tell.”

“I’m drugged up on caffeine and shit,” Beca mumbled, her words already jumbled by the pillowcase. Chloe’s hands slithered around Beca’s waist, pulling her closer with a hum. 

“I won’t hold it against you,” she said. 

“Yeah you will.”

“No, I won’t,” Chloe argued, tugging on the smaller girl slightly, “The only thing I’m holding is YOU, and it’s against ME.” 

Beca groaned. “I may be crashing from the chipperfest of 2015, but…that joke is a no-go.” 

“You’re a no-go.” 

“Stop,” Beca said, and in her voice was a hint of a chuckle overwhelmed by exhaustion. Her giggle made way to a yawn. 

“No more energy drinks, Becs,” Chloe said quietly. “There are plenty of ways to stay awake and alert.” 

“Says you,” Beca grumbled. She was now more than halfway asleep. 

“I’ll show you sometime,” Chloe said easily. Her breath was on Beca’s neck, and the brunette thought, for a fleeting electric shock of a moment, that she knew _exactly_ what Chloe was talking about. 

And judging by the fleeting electric shockness of the moment….it would be a pretty fullproof way of…staying alert. At least. 

Beca sighed, letting the anxiety that crossed over her in that instance diminish and leave in favor of Chloe’s lavender shampoo scent. 

“Sleep now,” Chloe said on cue, and Beca snorted, closing her eyes. 

“Whatever you say, woman.” 


	280. Netflix and Chill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *waves hand* ooh, oooooh!!! Pick me, pick meeee!!! Prompt: in which one of them asks the other "Netflix and chill?", having entirely misunderstood the meaning behind the phrase. The other agrees anyway. — sent by redlance

Beca considered herself relatively “in the know” about most things. 

For Christ’s sake, she practically lived in the E! News headquarters, considering the only light reading available in the house was either some new edition of a hundred year old Russian lit book _or_ a tabloid magazine, and Beca felt like the equivalent of Orwell’s Big Brother was the constant stream of the Kardashians playing over the television. 

So, all in all, she considered herself, at the very least, _aware_ of trends, slang, and lingo. 

That, though, never really stopped the Bellas from making fun of her every chance they got for her misguided attempts at maintaining modern, casual slang-filled conversation. 

Hell, she was still regularly using the word “dude”. And “stoked”. And, after her meeting with Snoop ( “Meeting” being a loose term for the second of eye contact that passed between them during her five minutes of extreme and unusual confidence), she even started to utilize the term “groovy” - something Chloe never really let her forget, largely due to a Snapchat story scenario, which, if Beca was being honest, she had no idea how to actually use. 

So she was somewhat proud of herself for the text that she sent to Chloe, first because it was her reaching out to another human to watch content on a computer screen that _wasn’t_ against her will, and, second, because she her phrasing was definitively _cool_. 

_[8:23 PM] Chlo_

_[8:23 PM] Chloooooo_

_[8:24 PM] CHLO CHLO CHLO_

_**[8:25 PM] wuttttttttt** _

_[8:26 PM] i’m bored_

_[8:26 PM] exceptionally so_

_**[8:27 PM] and i can help…how?** _

_[8:27 PM] don’t act like you_ aren’t _my main source of distraction from the monotony of my life, beale_

_[ **8:28 PM] wow**_

_**[8:29 PM] boredom looks good on you, bx** _

_**[8:29 PM] are you…** _

_**[8:30 PM] implying…** _

_**[8:30 PM] that i distract you????? ;) ;) ;)** _

_[8:31 PM] don’t get cocky, woman_

_**[8:31 PM] i’m just repeating YOUR words** _

_**[8:33 PM] so what exactly can i do for you, miss mitchell?** _

_**[8:33 PM] have any specific…distraction in mind?** _

_[8:35 PM] aha, yes._

_[8:35 PM] netflix and chill, as they say?_

_[8:42 PM] chlo?_

_[8:45 PM] you down?????_

Chloe, it should be said, was always less confident in Beca’s ability to employ modern language in a way that was both _correct_ and _cool_. She’d been on the wrong end of several botched attempts including a few nights of utter vulnerability where Beca saddled up beside Chloe and asked her - quite adorably, I’ll note - what a “hotline bling” was and whether it was the same thing as that new tweeting pizza orders to Dominos situation. 

That didn’t stop her from considering Beca’s words a million times over, because _maybe_ she knew exactly what she was asking? 

And _maybe_ boredom just had a habit of…increasing Beca’s overall….bluntness? 

The phone sat on her kneecaps, balanced carefully on that precipice, for long enough that the screen went black and she had to unlock it twice, eyes focused on Beca’s most recent messages. 

She knew, to a somewhat painful extent, that she had to tread carefully with a mistake such as this one. Or…a non-mistake. 

Either way. 

Caution had to be taken, and caution was not exactly Chloe’s middle name. 

**_[8:52 PM] i’ll be in my room. come up whenever._ **

The knock came at the bedroom door two and a half minutes later, with Chloe still staring at her phone - which had now moved to her desk so she could properly pace, one thumbnail stuck between her teeth for her to gnaw nervously on. She jumped when she heard it, letting out a small squeak and grabbing her phone quickly so that Beca couldn’t see the screen frozen on it. 

“Hey,” she said, breathless and jumpy. Beca rested her head against the door jam, eying Chloe suspiciously. 

“Hey,” she said. Her thumb ran along the edge of the laptop screen, which was clutched closely to her chest. “So…uh….what were you thinking?” 

Chloe’s eyes shot up to meet Beca’s, wider, she was sure, than necessary and clearly communicating a certain level of panic. 

Because, for the record, Chloe was starting to get properly, properly panicked. She ran over the conversation again in her head, pinpointing every letter of vague suggestion that implied a _chance_ that Beca _did_ know what, exactly, the phrase meant.

Chloe wasn’t someone who panicked. She didn’t trip over her words, nor did she focus so solely on someone else’s words that they started to blur together. She also didn’t blush.

The panic made it’s way, somewhat quickly, into anger. She imagined this whole fare to be a little more….romantic? Drunken? Fueled with something beyond just a trendy Urban dictionary phrase that a bunch of thirteen year olds were using on the internet? 

Not that she imagined this whole fare. Or that she really knew what this whole fare was. 

Which was the third step of this whole analytic process: embarrassment. And denial. 

Because Beca _definitely_ didn’t intend anything with those words. Certainly. Completely. 

Right? 

Beca cleared her throat, eyebrows furrowed in concern over Chloe’s nail-biting. “Chlo?” she said, stepping forward in the room. “What were you thinking?” 

“Thinking?” Chloe said, coughing. Her voice was wobbly, and she thought for a moment that this role reversal felt like something straight out of a dream, because this was _not_ how things worked between them. 

They had their moments of heated, heavy silence - the kind that spread between two people and inside so many layers of unspoken words that it made Chloe’s stomach flip. In a good way. 

And they had their moments of misunderstanding, panic, anxiety, but all of those things were almost always initiated purposefully by Chloe to spur Beca into some realm of humiliation that inevitably made her all the more adorable. Having it the other way around seemed almost wrong, and it was clear that Beca felt so too. 

“About…?” Chloe continued, scratching the side of her forehead. She reached behind her to find where her mattress was, sitting slowly back down on it and hearing it squeak beneath her weight. The sound crackled through the room. 

Beca walked further in, blowing out a breath from between her teeth and letting her neck go stick straight in an attempt of faked casual air. “Netflix?” she said finally, poking Chloe lightly on the shoulder bone. “What were thinking of watching?” 

Chloe breathed out, harsh and loud, crashing back against the pillow at her headboard and letting the mattress bounce her slightly. She chuckled lightly as her legs pulled up to bend at the knee. She counted three plastic, glow in the dark stars on the ceiling before responding. “Um…Whatever you wanted?” 

“Are you, like,” Beca paused to scratch the side of her forehead with her thumb nail. “Okay?” 

“What?” 

“You’re being all…” Beca waved her hand around her head to express whatever she was trying to say. 

“I kinda feel all…” Chloe mimicked the hand motion, letting out an uncomfortable laugh. “Becs…uh….I don’t know how to say this…”

“Then say it,” Beca said, nudging Chloe’s knee lightly with her foot. She was stationed against the wall now, and it tickled when her toe lingered on Chloe’s calf. “You’re being weird.” 

“I know, I’m making this weird,” Chloe said, chuckling in a way that was very distinctly self-deprecating. Her hands found their way to her face, and she shook her head in the safety of her palms. “Um. So. Netflix and chill…you should. Uh. Look that up.” 

“Chloe, I’m not dumb,” Beca said, “I _know_ what Netflix and chill means.” 

Chloe sat up slightly, her neck bending uncomfortably with the twist of the dashboard. “You do?” 

Beca rolled her eyes, cheeks puffing out in a deep breath. “Duh,” she said, “It means I want to observe some light, mid-90′s vampire-slaying action with my Buffy-loving friend.” 

Chloe’s eyes closed, largely to stop the pinpricks of white that was entering her vision. 

Right. _That_. 

A…miscommunication. 

She allowed herself to start laughing completely, despite the confused look Beca was giving her. “You _really_ need to look up that phrase, Becs,” she said, hiding the blush that was rising on her neck. “ _Please_.” 

It took Beca forty seconds to load up the web browser on her phone, enough time for Chloe to breathe out and fan herself openly, sitting up to press her back against the same wall as Beca and lean over to read the definition. 

“Oh,” Beca squeaked, swallowing thickly. “Right. That’s…uh….I wasn’t….” 

“Yeah,” Chloe chuckled, “I assumed.” 

“You…uh…I…” Beca paused to take a deep breath, suddenly aware of the proximity between the two women and the fact that she could feel Chloe’s breath on her shoulder. “Uh…you agreed?” 

“That’s a thing that I did,” Chloe nodded, chin finding it’s way to Beca’s shoulder blade. 

Beca was quiet, not capable of finding the right words, and Chloe couldn’t help but feel infinitely more comfortable with the proper shift back to the way things usually were. Because Beca’s heart was beating so fast, Chloe thought she could _see_ her pulse point, and there were splotchy patches of red spreading up her neck, while Chloe didn’t feel anything more than mildly embarrassed - something that never bothered her very much. _Couldn’t_ bother her, really, because she was Chloe Beale and she was constantly performing or exhibiting behaviors that mildly embarrassed her - and relieved that she had, at the very least, figured the situation out. 

“I don’t want to have sex with you, Beca,” Chloe finally said, removing her chin from Beca’s shoulder and taking a deep breath. She watched at Beca deflated, and decided it was entirely too easy. After the struggle she went through minutes ago, she thought she needed to enhance the current….heat. Her hand found Beca’s pocket, slipping inside it easily. 

“You don’t?” 

“I mean, I _do_ ,” Chloe said, “For the record. A girl doesn’t ask just _anyone_ to experiment with.” 

Beca choked on something, and Chloe hoped it was the images that were popping up in the brunette’s mind, spurred from her words. She wasn’t an evil person - was, on the whole, actually exceptionally good and moral - so she assumed it was okay that she was getting a certain amount of pleasure from watching the other girl squirm. 

“I just would rather it not be after you, in classic Dad fashion, misused the term ‘netflix and chill’, you know?” 

Beca’s head hit the back of the wall and she breathed out slowly. Chloe watched the way the air left her chest. “What, uh…” Beca’s eyes were closed. “Would be more appropriate?” 

Chloe hummed. “I’m not high maintenance, you know,” she said, “But flowers. Flowers would be a good start.” 

“Dope,” Beca said. Her voice was high-pitched and scratchy. The minute she said it, she winced, and Chloe, from inside Beca’s pocket, pinched her with a squeal of laughter. 

“Oh my _god_ ,” she said, “Let’s…let’s rethink this whole Buffy thing, because I’m beginning to think you _might_ be getting most of your vocabulary from high schoolers in the nineties.” 

Beca grimaced, covering her face in her hands, and Chloe pried them away finger by finger, giggling all the while. “Aw, your ego is hurt,” she said, her voice a mocking, pouty tone. “That’s okay. I think we’ve both learned a step away from lingo is for your own good. You look like you _might_ go into cardiac arrest right about now…”

“Shut,” Beca said between gritted teeth, opening her laptop. Her eyes were focused on the screen in order to avoid the redhead’s grin. “Up.” 


	281. The Teacher AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we're both teachers and idk abt you but i think these children are trying to set us up bc we both got locked in the same supply closet for the third time.... endswiththe kiss this time plss — sent by anonymous

“This is….this _can’t_ be a coincidence.” 

If it wasn’t so dark, Beca thought she could see her words leave her mouth in puffs of breath. It was hot in the closet, or, rather, humid, with there being limited space between Chloe’s breath and her own, and, okay, so Chloe’s hands flew out instinctively around Beca’s waist when the tower of dry erasers fell off the shelf, but they weren’t…exactly…retreating. 

Not wanting to break the contact, Beca leans slightly to reach for the light, tugging on the string that hands down into the middle of the room.

“It doesn’t work,” Chloe said when the bulb clicked but no light turned on. “Remember? It went out the second time this happened.” 

“Right,” Beca said, unsure now what to do with her hands. 

They both could swear they heard giggling coming from outside the supply closet, and, upon hearing it, Chloe chuckled breathily, resting her forehead on Beca’s with eyes closed. 

“I was _positive_ I wasn’t going to fall for it again,” she said, shaking her head slightly so that her hair tickled Beca’s cheeks. 

“But it was Cindy this time,” Beca said, and Chloe hummed in agreement. 

“She hardly says anything most of class, so I kinda….”

“Assumed innocence,” Beca said. “Yeah, me too.” 

“I mean, with the boys, it makes sense.” 

“Lock two teachers in the supply closet and fulfill whatever weird fantasy you imagine during bio…” Beca said. Chloe pulled back slightly, and in the darkness, Beca could see the furrow of her brow. 

“Fantasy?” 

“The boys,” Beca said, her voice wobbling a little. “Jesse…Swanson, you know, the film and history teacher…he hears them talk.” 

“About us?” 

“About you, mostly,” she said. “I mean, new teacher. Killer blue eyes, low-cut shirts….you know how junior high is.” 

Beca expected that Chloe would blush. Step back. At the very least, exhibit some sort of embarrassment for this reputation she’d built as the teacher crush. Hell, even a touch of shock, because though Beca thought the male teachers were pretty obvious about her effect on them, Chloe tended to stay out of the teachers lounge, avoiding their smirks most of the time in favor of staying in the art studio for lunch. 

Instead, though, Chloe let a laugh bubble up from her lips, shaking her head but leaning even more into Beca to hold the weight up. “You’re joking,” she said, but Beca only shrugged. 

“I only report the truth.” 

“Well, then, Miss Mitchell…I, uh, have to tell you something,” Chloe said. Her voice fell lower, almost, and Beca would be lying if she didn’t catch it. “I’m not the hot teacher.” 

Beca snorted, looking down. “Um. Yeah. You are.” 

Chloe grinned, eyebrows raised, as she shook her head. “You forget that art class is 90 perfect just the kids talking to each other. And the things I hear about _you_  are…quite literally not suitable for work.” 

“What?” Beca said. The sharpness in her tone should’ve forced Chloe back, but the redhead, despite having a few feet of room to move, stayed pinned against Beca, giggling. “That’s _so_ not true.” 

“It _so_ is,” Chloe said. “ _Everyone_ has a thing for the bad girl. Even when she’s the one handing out the grades.” 

“I’m not…that’s not…” Beca fumbled, shaking her head before taking a deep breath. “Really?” 

“Oh yeah,” Chloe said. When her hand moved to push back a strand of Beca’s hair, the brunette was certain she was doing it in slow motion, every single millimeter of movement breaking through the waves of time and space. When it finally touched Beca’s cheek, she flinched, but only slightly. Chloe noticed, pushing her grin higher. “I guess I’m grateful they’re making _this_ happen instead of…oh…something more unrealistic.” 

“You think…” Beca gulped, eyes trailing to where Chloe’s hand stayed on her jaw. “You think this is realistic?” 

“For me,” Chloe said certainty. “Yeah.” 

Beca thought that if her words were visible in the humid air between them earlier, the breath she let out - a total deflation of her self - was capable of bowling Chloe over. “You don’t come to the teacher’s lounge at lunch,” Beca said suddenly, causing Chloe’s slow lean-in to stop midway. 

“What?”

“I’m just saying…” Beca said, “You’re, like…I…um…I’d like to see you outside of the supply closet more often.” 

Chloe giggled, stepping closer, somehow. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper. “I kinda like it in here.” 

“It’s…dark,” Beca conceded, and Chloe laughed. 

“And private,” Chloe pointed out. 

“And locked,” Beca said, swallowing thickly. “Not, like…not that I’m making a suggestion or anything. Just…um. An observation.”

“It’s a very good observation,” Chloe said. In the dark, or despite the dark, Beca watched the redhead’s eyes trail down to her lips, and Beca decided to follow, eyes moving slowly down Chloe’s face until they met the open-mouthed grin getting closer to her own. “A+, I would say.”

“No teacher roleplay,” Beca said under her breath, earning a chuckle from Chloe that was so close to her mouth she could _taste_ Chloe’s spearmint gum. “Please.” 

“Noted,” Chloe said. Her hand found it’s final placement on Beca’s neck, just at her collarbone. “Now, let’s say we give the kids something to gossip about.” 

“Yeah,” Beca said dumbly, hand moving to Chloe’s hip. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

She decided, later, that it would probably be unethical to give all her students As. 

But it should be noted that she very much _wanted_ to.  


	282. The One with the Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted:   
> Person A, noticeably disheveled as they enter the room: Sorry I’m late, I was doing stuff.   
> Person B, also disheveled and grinning smugly: I’m stuff.

Aside from daily, two hour rehearsals and tri-weekly hour-long cardio sets, the Bellas met every Sunday night for an hour and a half to discuss everything from costumes to set lists to gossip from last night’s Treble party that they wanted to set straight. 

Well, in some Bellas’ cases, set “straight” might not be the best kind of wording. 

And, while it seemed excessive at first, most of the time the Bellas found that these Sunday meetings stretched past the one and a half hour mark, blending seamlessly into 10 p.m. conversations that eerily resembled Bella bonding. 

Chloe, of course, had a secret love of tricking the entire team to participate in Bella bonding without them knowing. Beca reminded her time and time again that everyone hanging out as friends and living in the same house wasn’t defined as Bella bonding. It was defined as being normal human beings and maintaining a basic sense of social interaction. 

Whatever you called it, it was, technically, mandatory, and there was no one who enforced this rule more than Chloe - and, because Chloe felt it was important, Beca enforced it as well. Even though she tended to have much more important things to do. Like the homework she put off all weekend in favor of finishing a mix that wouldn’t see the light of day. 

So, on this particular Sunday night, all the Bellas were gathered around the living room in their typical spots - Emily perched on the footrest where she’d keep a perfect posture most of the meeting, and Amy sitting on the loveseat behind her with Stacie sitting on the arm rest of it, legs crossed; Cynthia Rose squished into the corner of the couch, arms out-streched on the edges of the cushions, and Jessica sitting next to her with Ashley sitting on the ground at her feet, letting Jessica braid her hair; Flo sat on the other side, suspiciously eying Lilly the entire time, as she sat in the fetal position peeking out over the hills of her knees. 

Only, the other love-seat, the one very clearly only big enough for one, was supposed to be filled by two people, practically sitting on each other’s laps. There was, normally, a blanket draped across them, and the Bellas had always spent the hours after each meeting placing bets on how, exactly, they fit themselves onto the seat - which limbs were intertwined with which under the blankets, and whether Beca’s sudden blush halfway through was the result of any rustling where the Bellas couldn’t quite see. 

“I give them two more minutes, and then I’m out,” Cynthia Rose muttered, hugging a pillow close to her chest. Flo hummed in agreement, and Jessica and Ashley nodded, but Emily looked….uncertain. 

“In class, we give them fifteen minutes,” she said nervously, “So let’s say if they don’t come in seven then–”

“We take a Bella-funded trip to Taco Bell Hell,” Amy said, “I like the way you think, Legacy.” 

“I never said anything about Bella fund–”

“Six minutes,” Stacie interrupted, looking at her phone. “They’ve got six minutes.” 

“Where did they go, anyway?” Flo asked. 

“They have their grocery store run,” Jessica said, “But I _swear_ I saw them pull into the driveway, like, twenty minutes ago.” 

“The BA getaway is empty,” Amy said, “For the record.” 

“And the fridge is void of any possible dinner options, so…”

“Sorry!”

The door flew open without a prelude - no jangling of the locks or twisting of the knob, but just what _seemed_ be absolute breathlessness. Beca stood in it, face flushed, trying her best to tuck the button down she had on back into her pants. She threw a weak smile over to the girls, patting her hair down. “Sorry I’m late,” she said again. She swallowed thickly, scratching at her neck as she moved to her usual spot. 

“Where the hell were you?” 

“Yeah,” Cynthia Rose added, “You look like you just ran a marathon.” 

“Uh, yeah, no,” Beca blushed. She reached up, scratching the back of her neck again, her eyes glazing over slightly as the redness spread from her neck up to her face. “I was busy. Doing. Stuff.” 

At that moment, Chloe walked in, tripping over the slight incline that separated the porch from the door. She giggled when she fumbled a bit, rearranging the skirt she had on, which appeared to be slightly turned to its side. “Hi,” she said simply, her voice more wobbly than any of the girls had been used to. “I’m stuff.” 

“Chloe!” 

Though the Bellas were sure they’d seen the best of Beca’s blushing, the brunette had a wonderful tendency of topping herself on the daily. Today, of course, was no different, and if any of the Bellas were allowed their phones at the meeting, they would take out a camera, because it _almost_ looked as though she’d applied a snapchat filter to make her cheeks that tomato red. 

If Beca could see anything other than the blinding white light of embarrassment and adrenaline, she would find that half the Bellas looked at them with disgusted faces, while the other half (mainly Stacie, though) eyed them up and down like a frat boy learning that one of their brothers got laid. 

“I would high five you, Red,” Amy said, “But I don’t trust the power of portable Purell.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Beca muttered. She pulled her feet up to hug them to her chest while Chloe just giggled biting her lip breathlessly and skipping up behind the chair. She reached her arms out to Beca, running them over her shoulders and leaning in. 

“I was just being honest,” she said, her tone so mockingly innocent that it made Beca almost nauseous. 

“I have nothing to say to you,” Beca muttered as Chloe hopped over the couch and slid in next to Beca. Despite her iciness, she leaned into Chloe when the redhead held her arms out. 

“That’s fine, you said it all in the car.” 

“The _car_?” Cynthia Rose said from behind her pillow. “Bro, that’s a _shared_ vehicle.” 

“We were careful,” Chloe said, blinking. “Don’t _worry_. It’s not the first time it’s been….utilized.” 

Flo groaned, throwing her head back against the cushion, and Beca slapped Chloe lightly in the abdomen with the back of her hand. Surprised, Chloe shrugged. 

“I’m not talking about _us_!” she said defensively, “I mean, like, I am. But it’s not like we’re the only ones to fog up the windows.” 

“Chloe!” Beca said threw gritted teeth. “Stop. Talking.” 

“Alright, alright,” Chloe said, taking a deep breath. She flattened her hand against her stomach, smoothing down her shirt. “What’s the first order of business.” 

Amy raised her hand, looking around the room. “Seat covers for the car?” 

“I was thinking more like the massive hickey on Beca’s neck,” Stacie said. She scooted further back on the armrest, folding her legs in a criss-cross and eying them. 

“And the mismatched buttons of her shirt,” Flo muttered under breath. 

“ _Not_ on the agenda,” Beca said. She reached around her neck, tugging her hair down around it and hugging her legs closer to her chest to hide the button-down incident. 

Chloe, being the person that she was, just chuckled beside Beca and squeezed her pincher fingers in the tendons of her shoulders, causing Beca to squirm. “She’s right, you know,” she said finally, looking around at the other girls and sitting up straighter. She reached down to her Bella folder, handing out the agendas she’d printed out. “We can save _that_ conversation for the five minute break at the end of the hour.” 

**Author's Note:**

> All of these are on my tumblah (flabbergasties), AND I'm forever and always accepting prompts. Also, if the grammar is bad, sue me, cuz I spit a lot of this out at, like, 100mph.


End file.
